Sinful Revenge
by Showna EJ
Summary: Complete! In a Man of His Word, Sydney trusts Sark with a gun, with fatal consequences. But what was meant to be torture to Vaughn, turns into pleasure for Sark. Season 4, AU. Sarkney.
1. A Man of Broken Promises

Sinful Revenge

**Disclaimer: **Alias belongs to JJ Abrams, ABC and the people at Bad Robot

**Rating: **PG-13, for language and sexual themes in future chapters

**Pairing:** Sydney/Sark, suggested Sydney/Vaughn and Sark/Lauren

**Summary:** When Sydney makes the fatal mistake of trusting Sark with a gun in _Man of His Word, _Season 4, Sark takes the opportunity to revenge himself on Vaughn for Lauren's murder. However, after spending a prolonged time together, Sark and Sydney begin to develop feelings that neither of them anticipated.

**Author's Note: ** An AU version of the events in _Man of His Word_. What might have happened had Sydney trusted Sark with a gun during the fight with Anna at the club.

Chapter 1- A Man of Broken Promises 

"Ready?" Sydney Bristow asked sharply, using her cruel imitation of Lauren's melodious British voice. Sark turned away from watching her precious Agent "Boy Scout" Vaughn make his way through the dancing couples in the Venice club. Or perhaps the agent was no longer quite as precious to Sydney as he had once been. Sark had detected a distinct chilliness between them on the flight over to Italy. After Sydney had adopted her current disguise, the tension had been thick enough to slice through with a knife.

"I'm always ready, love," Sark smirked, knowing he was tormenting the CIA agent to no end.

"Lovely," she rolled her eyes. She began making her way towards the couch that was the rendezvous with Sanko. Sark followed after her, placing a casual arm around her waist. He hoped wherever Vaughn was, this was eating him up inside. Even if the agent wasn't looking, Sark couldn't help feeling an old twinge of enjoyment come back to him. Custody had been excruciating for a man so used to doing whatever he wanted, whenever he wanted to do it. The loud music in the club was making his blood pound and he felt himself sinking comfortably back into the game. In the dim light, Sydney actually did resemble Lauren quite nicely and as they sat down on the couch, Sark could almost pretend he was back in business with the only woman he had ever truly loved. That was until Sydney sat as far on the opposite side of the couch from him as she could.

He resisted the urge to roll his eyes. "Lauren and I were known for our public displays of…affection, Sydney," he said, in a whisper just loud enough to carry to her. "Please try to act as though you don't want to claw my eyes out."

Sydney rolled her shoulders uncomfortably, but then complied. She shifted towards him and sunk almost willingly into his chest. Sark realized she was actually almost nervous around him. He tried to remember what he had read on Sydney's personal history records. It was true she settled for long term relationships and it generally took her quite some time to develop a steady relationship with any man, but he had no idea that an agent would be this skittish in any situation. Especially one as good as she was. He found himself with an inane desire to comfort her, but settled for running a gentle finger up and down her arm. "We'll be out of here in no time and you can go back to your boy scout," he teased.

Sydney shot him a look that made him regret saying anything. Rather than reaming him out, however, she changed the grimace into a sultry grin. "When we are done, boy scout," she said in a rather loud and suggesting tone. "I'm going to drag you back to our room and show you why the Boy Scout motto is 'always be prepared.'"

Sark felt his mouth go dry, wondering at the extraordinary change. "I hope I am not interrupting anything?" said an almost jovial voice above them.

Sydney shot the speaker a half grin and Sark realized they had been joined by his contact, Sanko. He sat up a little straighter and shot a glance at Sydney. Gone was any meekness she may have displayed. This was not Sydney Bristow, but Agent Bristow. The hardness in her eyes certainly matched the one reflected in Lauren's when on mission. Sark had been a fool to think there would be any problem and he quickly began to make introductions. As Sanko kissed Sydney's hand and began the meeting, he tried to recall all he knew of the man. He was reputed to be one of the largest perverts in the spy world, having an impressive collection of pornographic materials. If the way he was eying Sydney was any indication, this reputation was not an exaggeration.

Sark had to admire Sydney as the meeting progressed. She became Lauren and he unwillingly found himself fighting back images of the woman he had seen recently, murdered in a coffin. He remembered her vivacity, her cunning mind and her complete disregard for the rules that perfectly mirrored his own. Sark stared hard at Sanko, at his double chin, brown comb over and greasy pores, trying to ignore the woman who was the temporary revival of the woman he had loved more than he thought entirely possible. His thoughts drifted to her husband, the cold hearted bastard who had murdered her. He knew forcing Vaughn to open the coffin had caused the agent plenty of pain, but somehow it wasn't enough. He would have to do more.

And even as Sanko suggested that he be given a show of 'Lauren' and Sark's sexual activities, Sark realized what he could take from Vaughn that would cause him as much pain as Sark was dealing with now. His thoughts were momentarily distracted from revenge as he tried to think of something he could do to Sydney that was erotic enough to satisfy Sanko, but mild enough to not earn one of her bullets in his chest. He was considering licking cocktail off of her collarbone, when Sydney took unexpected action.

Sark watched her, captivated, as she roughly stuffed a slice of lime in his mouth. Her touch was the first he had had since being taken into custody and it caught him off guard. Before he knew what was happening, her mouth was on his, delivering what was possibly one of the roughest kisses he had ever received. Before pulling back, Sydney bit his lip fiercely, puncturing the skin and causing a trickle of blood to drip down his chin. She sat back up again with a smirk, leaving him caught breathless and wiping blood off of his lips.

"Satisfied?" Sydney asked, her gaze losing none of its heat. Sark felt once again the desire to ravish her on the spot. Back in her days at SD-6, particularly when they were working together, and before Allison, it had been one of his most favourite sexual fantasies…making love to Sydney Bristow. Almost immediately a plan began formulating itself in his brain. He doubted it would ever come to fulfillment, but if the opportunity should arise, both revenge on Agent Vaughn and possibly a little something more from Sydney could be achieved.

Sanko licked his lips and rubbed his hands together. "I see your reputation has not been exaggerated in that area, Mrs. Reed."

"Nor in any others," Sydney responded quickly.

"Yes, well, now what you have come for," Sanko laughed. Before another word left his mouth, a gunshot rang out. He fell forward, shot through the head. Sydney let out a curse, but Sark immediately took action, pulling her to the ground. The club exploded in panic and shouting as the patrons made their frantic way towards the exits. Sark felt himself wondering if he could tempt Sydney to join him in an attempt at escape, but she was already shouting at Vaughn over their coms. Sydney grabbed his arm and began pulling him towards the stairs.

"It's Anna!" she hollered at him. He nodded, having deduced as much himself.

They reached the stairs and Sydney turned, pulling out a pistol, tranquillizer and a set of handcuffs. Realizing she was going to 'subdue' him first, Sark immediately began to protest. "Sydney, give me a gun!" he shouted. "I can help- you know I can. I'm more useful than your Agent Vaughn."

"I can trust Vaughn not to turn his gun on me!" Sydney snapped, clicking one of the handcuffs around his wrist.

"You can trust me," Sark implored her. "What do I have to gain by betraying you? Anna means nothing to mean, and I happen to have an explosive devise gauged in my neck!"

Sydney frowned, considering his words. Realising she was wasting time, she sighed and unsnapped the handcuff. "If you make me regret this, I will personally kill you!" she promised, handing him the tranquillizer gun. "Come on!"

She turned to run up the stairs. Sark immediately aimed the tranquillizer at her neck and shot. She let out a gasp, and turned to face him. He almost felt guilty at the look of shock and betrayal in her eyes. "I lied," he shrugged. She collapsed, unconscious. He hurried forward and lifted her over his shoulder, then began making his way towards the exit.

He pulled a cell phone out his pocket and dialled the number of one of his old Venice contacts. "Antonio," he hollered. "Its Sark. I need immediate extraction- and bring the equipment to disable a personal tracking-explosive devise. I'm at Club Vorda, the west exit."

"I'll be there in five minutes," promised Antonio.

Sark pushed his way through the crowd. He caught sight of Anna Espinosa making her way towards the staircase, no doubt looking for Sydney. He ducked into a corridor on the west of the building, probably used for employees and sat down to wait, gently easing Sydney down. There was no one around- most of the employees undoubtedly going the way of the patrons and running for their lives. He laid Sydney's head in his lap, prepared to knock her out again should she regain consciousness.

He began thinking up some sort of game plan. This impulsive action wasn't anything like him. He had barely had a half-formed decision on abducting Sydney before he had acted. The cold hard facts were he was in the middle of Venice with an explosive in his neck and with no allies, save an old Italian man who had to be nearing sixty-five. He would have to lay low for a while, until he could make contact with some of his old colleagues, either from the days with Irina's organization, or even a few stragglers from the Covenant. He suspected that he could have a small organization up and running within a couple of months. Of all of his residences, he knew the manor in Innsbruck would be the most logical. Yes, he could easily get everything running again. But what to do with Sydney?

He had considered the possibility of killing her and sending her mangled corpse back to Agent Vaughn. Although the immediate and striking pain that would cause was no doubt attractive, it was not really Sark's way and was certainly not a suitable ending to the animosity between himself and Sydney. No, a prolonged time in captivity should do the trick very nicely. He leaned back against the wall, studying the smooth face of the agent in his lap. And if anything more personal should form between them, well, that would be something even better to throw back at Agent Vaughn. To send back a Sydney Bristow in love with Julian Lazaery would be the ultimate revenge.

A black car came squealing up and out jumped Antonio Manna. He was a portly, rich Italian dressed all in black with a disposition that Sark suspected he had copied off of Marlon Brando's portrayal of the godfather. He nodded a short greeting to Sark and pulled out a small black computer, which he held up to his neck. "Hello, Julian," he greeted, tapping in the deactivation code. Antonio and his family were among the few people who knew Sark's birth name, having met Sark first through his father. Not a fact that Sark held against them. "I see once again you have managed to get yourself in a situation needing my personal assistance to extract you from."

"Yes, and as per normal I am eternally grateful," Sark assured him dryly.

"Who is the girl?" Antonio demanded.

"You have probably heard of this 'girl,'" Sark answered. "Sydney Anne Bristow, CIA. Largely recognized, with the aid of her father, Jack Bristow, of bringing down the Alliance."

Antonio's heavy eyebrows raised almost off his head. "And what is she doing here, unconscious in your lap?"

"Sydney and I have a history," Sark answered. "We've worked together, not ever willingly, on several occasions. But more importantly, she is the woman the man who killed Lauren Reed is in love with."

"I see," Antonio said slowly. "You're good, very good, my young friend." He passed a black device that almost looked like a checkout scanner over Sark's neck. "There, it has been deactivated. We'll take the device out when we get to my home."

"I am much obliged to you," Sark said honestly. Not that he had been in any real danger of being exploded. Jack Bristow would have immediately realized Sydney was no doubt in close contact with him and would have fought tooth and nail to stop the CIA from eliminating him.

Between the two of them, they carried Sydney relatively gently to the car and Sark slid her into the back seat, before climbing in after her. Before Antonio closed the door on them, the Italian man gave Sark a rare grin. "You should have been born an Italian, my old friend."

"Really?" Sark drawled. "And why is that?" He wasn't really interested, far more preoccupied with carefully taking off the blonde wig Sydney had been wearing and letting her brown hair come down. He understood women got headaches if their hair was up for too long and too tightly.

"You have a knack of getting attached to the very women you shouldn't," joked Antonio, closing the door and climbing into the front seat with his chauffeur.

Sark didn't laugh. He didn't find it at all amusing. Mostly because it was true. Allison. Lauren. And Sydney, occasionally. With a grimace he pushed the brunette off of his lap and propped her hastily up against the far window, hoping she got a crick in her neck.

"What do you mean, you lost her?" a very angry Jack Bristow snarled at Vaughn.

"I was up doing surveillance," Vaughn explained for what felt like the 100th time. "Anna shot Sanko and Sydney told me to go after Anna. I assumed she would follow. I lost Anna and by the time I returned to where I last saw Sydney and Sark, they were gone. I searched the club twice, but no sign of them."

Vaughn met the dark glare of Jack. He had just suffered an agonizingly long flight that he had been forced on to after spending eight hours combing Venice for Sydney. He really did not feel like sitting here and defending himself to her controlling, conniving old father who only showed her affection when she was in trouble or depressed.

"Look, there are only two possibilities," Nadia interrupted, laying a hand on Vaughn's arm. "Either Sark somehow managed to overcome her, or Anna took them both."

"Or Anna and Sark were allied," Eric added.

"Either way, my daughter is alone out there, because this incompetent boy couldn't keep surveillance on a raging elephant!" Jack hissed.

"Please do not make the mistake of thinking you are the only person who has any feelings for Sydney!" Vaughn exploded angrily. His breathing was heavy and he sat down in his desk chair, emotionally drained by the anger and fear he felt for the woman he loved. He once again found himself replaying their last hours together, how cold he'd been to her after she'd adopted the disguise of Lauren. Again the image of her kissing Sark replayed in his head. If that was the last time he ever saw- looking like his ex-wife and kissing Sark, he would never be able to find peace. After just getting her back to lose her so suddenly…he buried his head in his hands.

He felt the large hand of Dixon clasp his shoulder. "We're doing all we can, Michael," he said in his rich, calming baritone. "Nadia and Eric are leaving for Venice in half an hour. Sloane's pulled out all the stops. He's rerouting the guys in surveillance to watch all Italian airports, bus stations and train stations. If they leave the country, we'll know about it."

Vaughn looked up. "Of course we'll know about it…Sark has the tracking device…we've been following him…haven't we? They are still together, are they not?"

Marshall looked uncomfortably at the ground and then back up at Vaughn, his cheeks burning. "Less than two minutes after you reported Sydney and Sark MIA, the tracking signal was lost. Its likely Sark had it deactivated or removed."

"Are you kidding me?" Vaughn grew angry again and stood up. "She's been MIA for almost twenty-four hours! That son-of-a-bitch could have her half way around the world by now!"

"Vaughn, we're doing all we can," Dixon said. "We all love Sydney too."

"No, we're not doing all we can!" Vaughn growled. "We should have blown his head off the minute she went MIA!"

"And risk injuring Sydney?" Nadia exclaimed. "Besides, we don't even know if Sark is responsible for this. It could be Anna."

Vaughn drew a shuddering breath and then turned and left the room.

Sydney rolled her head, letting out an almost inaudible groan. She pried her eyes open, struggling to sit up. She was laying in a four poster bed of rich red. The room she was in was one of the finest she had ever seen, even with all of her travels. The walls were a rich brown with golden swirls. The furniture was all made of some dark wood that had a deep gloss to it. It was more of a suite than a room. One door led off into a washroom, while a second led to a sitting room. In the bedroom there were two great wardrobes, a full length mirror, a duvet covered in a red silk much like the bed covers and a table set for two, with a bottle of chilled wine next to it and accompanied by two comfortable looking chairs.

She pushed back the covers and laid her bare feet into thick carpet. She was dressed in a relatively simple linen nightgown that was pretty in its simplicity. She caught sight of herself in the full length mirror across from the bed. Her long brown hair had been recently washed and all traces of make up had been rinsed. She lifted a hand to her head, noting a small bruise on her forehead. She struggled to remember how she might have gotten that.

There had been a meet…in Venice. She was dressed as Lauren and had had to kiss Sark. She remembered thinking that she had enjoyed it a bit more than she should have. Then…Anna had killed their contact and Sark…Sark had shot her with a tranquillizer! That bastard.

Any comfort she might have felt from the beautiful room immediately left. She was clearly being held captive here. Her eyes darted around and saw to some surprise that the door to the balcony had been left open. She hurried outside and, quickly taking in the rolling hills, illuminated by a setting sun, that she was somewhere in Tuscany. She thought for a moment about trying to find some proper clothes, but decided the nightgown would have to do for a traipse in the Tuscan countryside. She could change at the safe house. She was in the process of calculating the drop to the ground, when the door to her room swung open. She turned to see two Italian women, one old and stately, the other young and very pretty, enter.

Upon seeing her half over the balcony, the elderly woman immediately lost any stateliness. She threw up her hands and began hollering at the top of her lungs. "Oh, no! No, manca, lei deve non! Julian sarà la maggior parte di è sconvolto! Ritornare! Ritornare direttamente!"

She threw herself against Sydney and began pulling her back over the railing. Sydney found herself flabbergasted for one of the few times in her life. She found herself over the railing and half way to her bed before she thought to run. She pushed the older woman away and dashed out of the door….

…and directly into Sark's chest. "Hello, Sydney," he greeted, taking a firm hold of her and escorting her back into the room. "I knew sending Josie and Lena into wake you was a bad idea, but they were so insistent."

"You let me go you, son-of-a-bitch!" she hollered. She tried to kick him, but the nightgown severely restricted movement, and he easily parried and knocked her to the ground. Josie and Lena let out anguished cries.

Sark shot the two ladies his charming grin that Sydney assumed he had used to melt many wills. "Sigra Josie, la signorina. Il Lena, ci scusa per favore. È abbastanza disturbata nella mente. Soltanto posso calmarla adesso."

The ladies both shot worried looks in Sydney's direction, but complied with his request. As soon as the door closed behind them, Sydney scrambled up and put the bed between herself and Sark. "What do you want with me?" she snarled. "You said yourself you don't have anything to gain from betraying me."

"I don't really look on it as betraying you," Sark shrugged. "I think you must have had some secret wish to come with me. You must admit, you didn't put up much of a fight back there."

"Because I'm confined in this ridiculous nightgown!" Sydney protested. "Its not exactly what I would have expected from you."

"I didn't chose it," Sark assured her. "That was Josie Manna's choice selection. The older one. She thought it made you look darling. Despite your opinion, I am not so unfeeling as to actually undress you. Nor am I quite so feeling as to bathe a prisoner and clothe her."

"A prisoner?" Sydney snorted. "In this place? If Josie or whatever the hell her name is didn't just interrupt me, I would have been on my way to the CIA safe house."

"Yes, well, this is only temporary," Sark admitted. "My contact in Venice- Antonio Manna- has not shared his profession with his family, so we must keep up appearances. I have to stay here tonight while he contacts some of my old colleagues from the Alliance and Irina's organization. Tomorrow, you and I leave for London, where you will have the option of entering a more proper prison or living in some form of comfort with me, depending on your behaviour."

"Why are you telling me this?" Sydney frowned. "Unless you're planning on killing me tonight." She resisted the impulse to bite her lip, knowing if Sark did want to kill her, she was in no position to stop him.

"I assure you, killing you is the furthest thing from my mind," Sark promised, a small half smile on his face. She had known Sark long enough to know what that meant. "Josie outdid herself in the kitchen when she heard she was to have the cousin of her husband's long time business partner joining her. Or rather, her cooks did."

Sark brought a tray Lena must have brought in, over to the table beside the balcony. "Will you join me for dinner, Sydney?" he asked, for the first time actually cordial. She stood stiffly, watching as he gracefully served the dinner. It was roast chicken, accompanied by a variety of fresh looking vegetable and fluffy potatoes with a rich gravy. Josie certainly knew how to please the American palette. Sark uncorked the bottle of wine and poured two glasses. "Trust me, Sydney. You don't want to pass this up. It's an excellent vintage…and that's coming from me."

Sydney finally gave way to the growlings of her stomach and crossed slowly to the table. Sark offered her a smile when he saw she was coming, with only a touch of gloating. "That's a girl," he grinned. "You had best try and make this as pleasant as possible. You and I are going to be spending an great deal of time together, and I am sure it won't be all unpleasant."

He held out her chair for her, and she began to sit down. "You're very beautiful, Sydney," Sark said suddenly. "Does Agent Vaughn ever tell you that?"

Something inside of Sydney cracked and in a swift movement, she grabbed the beautiful willowware bowl full of potatoes and brought it crashing down on Sark's head. It made an excellent smashing sound and she was pleased to see his eyes diluted for a moment before he could fully use his vision again. She had hoped he would grow angry and strike her, or drag her off to some cold cellar with cold porridge to eat. However, he remained insufferably calm. He wiped mashed potato off of his face slowly, wearing a wry grin.

"I suppose I asked for that," he admitted, slowly backing away to the door. "But you know, before we get to London, perhaps try to learn some table manners. Things will be much different there and I would hate for you to feel embarrassed by your atrocious way of carrying yourself."

Sark barely managed to whip out the door before the bowl of vegetables went sailing towards him. Sydney listened, almost satisfied, at the quickened pace of his footsteps as he walked down the wooden hall, clearly worried the gravy might be the next missile. Sydney almost immediately regretted sending Sark on his way. She was now alone to mull over her situation and worry over what was awaiting her. She might have gotten Sark drunk enough to reveal more of those half-glimpsed plans for her and his future employment.

She picked up a plate and fork and, ignoring the glasses of wine, the entire bottle and dragged herself up to bed. She gave no more thought to escape. Her 'host' sounded to be some form of Italian mobster, and would surely have guards, seen and unseen, all over his grounds. For now she was stuck and would have to rely on Sark's mercy. The way she looked at it, this could possibly be her last night in any form of comfort and she intended to eat to her heart's content and then go about getting stone drunk.


	2. Blondes Have More Fun

**Disclaimer: **Alias belongs to JJ Abrams, ABC and the people at Bad Robot

**Rating: **PG-13, for language and sexual themes in future chapters

**Pairing:** Sydney/Sark, suggested Sydney/Vaughn and Sark/Lauren

**Summary:** When Sydney makes the fatal mistake of trusting Sark with a gun in _Man of His Word, _Season 4, Sark takes the opportunity to revenge himself on Vaughn for Lauren's murder. However, after spending a prolonged time together, Sark and Sydney begin to develop feelings that neither of them anticipated.

**Author's Note: ** An AU version of the events in _Man of His Word_. What might have happened had Sydney trusted Sark with a gun during the fight with Anna at the club. 

Chapter 2- Blondes Have More Fun Tuscany 

Sydney lazily rolled over in her sleep. She had spent the past fifteen minutes in the heavenly state between sleep and alertness. She was just asleep enough to ignore the pounding headache- a result of last night's drinking binge- yet awake enough to fully appreciate the good mattress she was lounging on and the gentle touch of the Italian sheets. She made a content noise in the back of her throat and rolled over to position herself in the narrow beam of sunlight let into the room by the closed drapes.

Abruptly, a merciless hand tore open the blinds, almost blinding Sydney and scaring away any lethargic thoughts. To replace them was the pounding headache she rightly deserved after almost finishing an entire bottle of '84 vintage red wine. "Rise and shine, Sleeping Beauty," came the cold, drawling accent of Julian Sark.

Sydney struggled to sit up and peered around blearily. She knew she would be looking more than a little rough, but didn't care enough about impressing Sark to do anything but run her hand through her tangled brown strands. "What time is it?" she asked, forgoing any morning pleasantries. She noted the thrown food had been cleared away. Last night's empty tray and dirty dishes had been replaced by a first class continental breakfast of fresh fruit, muffins, freshly buttered toast, crisp bacon and two pitchers- one of milk, the other of orange juice.

Sark was now leaning against her bed post, looking as well put together as usual in dark blue slacks, a matching jacket and a silk blue shirt with the top buttons left undone. He also wore his customary smirk. "It is seven thirty in the morning," he answered. "Get up and take some food into the bathroom. We've got a long day a head of us."

"Into the bathroom?" frowned Sydney. She got out of bed and crossed to the table, selecting a particularly savoury-looking slice of honeydew melon. "Why?"

"I want you as unrecognizable as possible," Sark explained. "Your guise as Julia Thorne kept you hidden for two years. It should work for a trip to London. I intend to dye your hair."

Sydney, munching on a piece of toast, almost choked. "_You're_ going to dye my hair?"

"Why not?" Sark shrugged, opening a box of drugstore hair dye. "I don't trust you not to dispose of it if left alone, and you might say something revealing to Lena and Josie."

"You're not dying my hair," Sydney argued, raising a defensive hand to her natural, rich brunette locks.

"Look, you can do this willingly or by force," Sark said, pulling on the provided rubber gloves. "Either way, you are leaving this room a blonde."

Sydney studied him momentarily. She suspected she could convince him to allow a wig, yet she knew when to pick her battles, and this wasn't one of them. "Fine," she agreed, swallowing an orange slice.

"You are so very co-operative," Sark said dryly.

"Nothing pleases me more than helping my captor keep me prisoner," Sydney said with a mock grin.

"If only," Sark said wistfully, leading her into the bathroom. "Consequently, we will be accompanied today by five of Antonio's personal snipers. They could make any attempt at escape end…somewhat messily."

"I expected as much," Sydney shrugged. She stood facing him with an almost cocky 'so-what-are-you-going-to-do-now' look on her face.

"You'd better wet you hair," Sark ordered, reading the instructions. "And then we can go from there."

Sydney obliged and then perched on the edge of the tub. She laughed a little when Sark squirted the first goop of dye into his hand. "What do you find so amusing, Agent Bristow?" he snapped.

"Even you can appreciate the ridiculousness of this situation," Sydney laughed. "Super spy Julian Lazaery: hair dresser. Wasn't something I ever pictured you doing."

"I'm adaptable to circumstance," Sark retorted. He moved in front of her and, with no visible hesitation, began running his fingers through her damp hair, roughly massaging the dye into every strand. He unconsciously moved closer, pulling Sydney's face into his abdominal region. He was silent as he worked, at times leaning over her to reach the back of her hair. When his hot breath brushed against her neck, Sydney had to suppress a shiver. The whole process was almost arousing. She noted hair dying as an activity to try with Vaughn, then almost laughed out loud. Vaughn would never do anything like this. He would lower his gaze and stammer out something charming about her being more adept or being beautiful just the way she was.

Lost in thoughts, she almost didn't notice Sark had stopped until he was face to face with her. "Now, just wait fifteen minutes and shower." He stopped. "What do you find funny now, Agent Bristow?"

Sydney realized thoughts of Vaughn had brought a soft smile to her face. "I was thinking about Vaughn," she said honestly.

A look of disgust flitted across Sark's cold face. "How perfectly unsurprising." He washed his hands in the sink. "Be ready in forty-five minutes. Our plane leaves in four hours. You'll find some clothes in the wardrobes."

In less than an hour, Sydney was sitting in a limo with Sark en route to the plane that would take them to London, England. Sydney's hair was a touch blonder than Julia's had ever been- verging on platinum. She was dressed in form-fitting tan slacks and a dark blue blouse that escaped being sensible by its low cut. She also wore a pair of dark glasses that effectively hid her eyes.

She glanced over at Sark. He looked perfectly relaxed, reading a thick book written in Italian. "What are you reading?" she asked, marvelling that she was even bothering to make small talk with such a man.

"Harry Potter," he drawled glancing at her over the pages.

She rolled her eyes. "I was being serious."

"So was I," Sark said quickly. "I had a meet in a theatre once, but the man was compromised. Harry Potter was the film, so I stuck around to watch. It was actually quite decent. Antonio had a copy lying around, so I borrowed it."

Sydney, looking closer, saw he was telling the truth. "I really don't know you at all," she sighed, leaning back in her seat.

"Few do," Sark admitted, laying the book in his lap. He leaned over and flicked a strand of her blonde hair. "Do you like it?"

"No," Sydney said firmly.

"You should," Sark said with a smile. "I like my women blonde- after all, aren't they supposed to have more fun? Besides, I'm sure Agent Vaughn will be pleased."

"Why do you say that?" Sydney asked warily.

Sark smirked openly. "You look more and more like his ex-wife every day."

Sydney impulsively lashed out, slapping the cocky British bastard. "Don't you ever say anything like that again."

Sark rubbed his cheek, still smirking. "You shouldn't let words affect you so much, Sydney. It's a weakness of yours."

"Go back to your book, or to hell, or wherever," Sydney hissed. "Just don't speak to me."

"As you wish," drawled Sark, picking up the Italian translation. The remainder of the ride passed predictably in silence.

When they reached the airport, Sark cordially helped her out of the limo. He looped his arm through hers and gave her one of his most charming grins. "Pretend as though you want to be with me," he ordered softly. "I assure you the alternative is much less enjoyable."

Sydney forced her stance to relax, but every time she felt his hand brush her back as he ushered her into the airport, she couldn't help but want to cut it off. They hadn't been in the airport more than two minutes before a man dressed in the airport uniform approached them. "Signor David Jones, si?"

Sark nodded. "And this is my darling wife, Kate," he introduced, putting on an American accent. "Have all the preparations been made?"

"Yes, of course," the employee nodded. "We just need you to go through customs and then your plane is awaiting you out gate 8."

"Thank you very much," Sark nodded, handing the employee a considerable tip. The man left and Sark ushered Sydney towards the line at customs.

"We're using one of my aliases?" Sydney whispered. "Why? You know the CIA will pick up on that right away."

"Maybe I want them to," Sark said with a half-grin. "I know you're angry with me, Sydney, but even you can appreciate I know how to do my job."

"I just don't know what your job is yet," Sydney frowned. Sark just kept on smiling, and handed their bags to customs.

In a record-setting half hour, they had boarded the place, which turned out to be Sark's private jet, which Sydney supposed explained the necessary preparations. One of the airport attendants came out on to the plane to see if they needed anything before they left. Sark ordered lunch and an expensive bottle of wine. Sydney coldly announced she wasn't hungry and Sark ordered for her as well. The plane looked more like a sitting room than anything else, with larger seats than any first class section had ever seen, two couches, a desk and a fridge. Sydney sat down in one of the chairs and crossed her arms, almost verging on a sulk. This entire situation was getting ridiculous. She had been able to find comfort last night in wine and food, but this afternoon she was thinking of the possibility of losing another two years of her life. She hoped that her staring into the surveillance cameras would tip the CIA off. She was desperately in need of rescue.

The food arrived and the engines started up. They were soon in the air and headed for London. Sark again offered Sydney some food, and she declined it. "Do you think by starving yourself you will enjoy our time together more?" he asked, frustrated.

Sydney finally fully lost her temper. "I don't know what the hell kind of game this is to you, Sark, but this isn't 'our time together!" she shouted. "We are not on some sort of social outing! I'm a prisoner to you- I don't know why, or what you expect to gain from this, but that doesn't change the situation! So cut the bullshit and clap me in chains! I'd be a lot more comfortable than sitting here trying to pretend I don't want to claw your eyes out!"

Sark stood, looking almost stricken. He rolled his tongue along his teeth, obviously fighting to get control of his own temper. "Will you gentlemen please excuse us for a moment," he said. The two hulking body guards filed out of the room without another word. Sark remained at the table, running his finger along the edge of a wine glass. He looked up abruptly and then walked over to her. He grabbed her arm and roughly pulled her to her feet.

"My reasons for keeping you here are my own, Agent Bristow," he said. His voice was cold, with no hint of mocking or sarcasm. "As you are so intent on being a prisoner, I'm sure you can understand that. This is certainly not a social outing, and if you understood the danger you are currently in- the danger only my goodwill protects you from, I doubt you would view it as anything but a prison escort. I admit I am baffled by your desire to be treated as a prisoner, but let me assure you- it is not a pleasant situation. I have spent plenty of time as a prisoner of your government to realize exactly how little you want that. But if you truly would rather be locked in a small space with no human contact and treated as little more than an animal in a cage for the duration of your stay, it can be arranged."

He threw her down in the chair, a look of disgust on his face. Sydney took a shaky breath, for the first time seeing Sark truly angry. "Sark…I didn't mean…I didn't think…"

"That is exactly what you did not do, Agent Bristow," Sark said, clearly more in control of himself. "Now, please come and join me for lunch."

Sydney rose quietly and moved with Sark to sit down. He served the lunch, which she was amused to see was macaroni and cheese. "Allison," he said, hesitant to step on a nerve already. "Told me you loved macaroni and cheese."

"Yeah, I do," Sydney confirmed, taking a generous helping. She shot Sark a shaky smile and then began to shovel one of her favourite foods into her mouth. For the first time she could remember, macaroni and cheese tasted like ashes.

Los Angeles 

Vaughn stretched wearily, his body aching from spending five long hours at a computer. The buzzer, announcing the arrival of employees through the subway entrance, went off. He swivelled around to see travel-weary Dixon and Eric making their way towards him. He could tell by the looks on their faces they had found nothing substantial, but he made his way over to them anyways.

"How did it go?" he asked, fighting down the bubble of hope in his stomach.

"I'm sorry, man," Eric apologized. "We know Sark left the club, carrying an unconscious blonde and accompanied by an Italian man."

"Any ID on the Italian?" Vaughn demanded.

"Antonio Manna," Dixon supplied. "Long time member of the Italian mob. And that's all anyone knows. We couldn't even get a place of residence."

"Damn it!" cursed Vaughn. "How can she just have vanished? How can this be happening again?"

"It's not happening again," Eric said firmly. "We know she's alive, we know she's with Sark and we're going to do all we possibly can to get her back safe."

"Sark isn't the type of person who stays MIA for very long," Dixon said in his comforting voice. "When we find him, we'll find her. Don't worry, Vaughn. Syd's a big girl, she can take care of herself."

"I let her down again," Vaughn said hollowly.

Eric clasped him on the shoulder, at a loss for words. "Eric!" came the excited voice of Nadia. She had recently awoken from her coma and was throwing herself into the search for her sister. She was looking pale, with dark circles under her eyes, but those eyes were lit with excitement that could only mean one thing. She was clutching a folder and accompanied by a grinning Marshall. "Look at this!"

"You found her?" guessed Vaughn, hurrying over to his girlfriend's sister.

"Maybe," nodded Nadia. She spread the folder out on Vaughn's desk and drew out the pictures held therein. "These are stills of surveillance footage taken from an airport in Tuscany two hours ago."

Vaughn pulled the photos towards them. It was a shot of Sark and a blonde woman. The blonde had her back turned to them, but Sark, speaking to her with an irritated look on his face, was clearly identifiable. "Pull all the names and locations of every passenger today!" Vaughn demanded.

Marshall hurriedly sat down at Vaughn's computer. After a few minutes of frantic clicking, he had pulled up the flight lists for all outgoing planes at the airport that day. "Look at this!" he said excitedly. "David and Kate Jones left today on a private plane for Austria an hour and a half ago."

"Kate Jones was Sydney's most common alias at SD-6," Dixon informed them. "She used it when she had to work with Sark."

"Why would Sark use that alias?" Eric frowned. "It's like a red flag saying 'here I am.'"

"I don't know," Marshall admitted, still clicking away at the computer. "But that private plane is registered to Julian Lazaery."

Vaughn exchanged excited looks with Nadia. "Go tell your father you and I are leaving on a plane for Austria as soon as he can get us a flight chartered."

London 

Sydney and Sark rode from Heathrow airport to his home just outside of London in perfect silence. Sydney felt she should say something several times, but couldn't bring herself to speak to the man who was not only holding her prisoner, but had effectively made her feel about six years old. The ride, though really only about half an hour, felt as though it lasted all day. They came to a stop and Sark rolled down his window. A guard saw him and nodded his greeting. "This is Julia Thorne," Sark introduced Sydney by her long-time Covenant alias. "She will be staying with us for some time. Give her clearance to the first two floors."

"Yes sir," agreed the guard.

"Thank you," Sark said. "Open the gate."

The window rolled up again and the limo proceeded up what Sydney assumed was Sark's driveway. They came to a stop and the engine turned off. "Welcome home," Sark said emotionlessly, getting out of the car. He opened her door and helped her out, giving her the first look at where she assumed she would be staying.

It was an enormous redbrick house, with great bay windows, a least four floors and two huge oak doors as a main entrance set on top of a sweeping staircase. Sark motioned that she should head towards the house. She did, though her confidence was much bolstered when he joined her. As they reached the doors, one swung open to reveal an old butler. "Welcome home, sir," he greeted, seeming genuinely pleased to see his employer.

"Hello, Lawrence," Sark said, with one of the first warm tones Sydney had ever heard from him.

"Who is this beautiful lady?" Lawrence inquired.

"Julia Thorne," Sark said, his tone again clipped.

"Shall I arrange a tour for her?" the butler offered.

"No, she doesn't need a tour," Sark declined. "She'll be remaining in her rooms for the duration of her stay. I rang ahead. Mrs. Beresford should have her quarters prepared."

"Yes," nodded Lawrence. "I believe she mentioned the Gold Room was being made ready."

"Thank you," Sark smiled wearily. "I'll take her there myself. And no, she doesn't have any luggage."

He took Sydney's arm and led her through the wide entrance hall, up a grand staircase carpeted in red. Sydney tried to take in as much of the house as possible, but Sark moved quickly. Everything was impeccably clean and fine, yet had the distinctive feel of being unlived in. "Do you come and stay here often?" she asked timidly.

"No," he said shortly. He stopped outside a closed black door and unlocked it with a key he fished out of his pocket. "Welcome to your prison," he said with mock cordiality.

Sydney had to admit she was impressed. Her 'quarters' consisted of a sitting room, the room they had entered now, a bedroom and a washroom. Everything was done very tastefully in red and yellow. The furnishings were all simple pieces, yet the simplicity added to the overall effect of the room. Sydney was slightly relieved to see there was a television- at least she would be assured of a way to pass some of the long hours spent here. There were several Spanish pieces of art hung on the walls. One in particular caught Sydney's eyes- a painting of several Spanish horses galloping along a river on an open field. "It's very nice," Sydney said lamely. "Quite a decent prison."

She could practically feel Sark roll his eyes, so said nothing more. "I am pleased that you like it," Sark said, his voice lacking in any type of emotion. "You will be spending your time in this room. I can't allow you to roam the house, you understand. You'd undoubtedly try to escape."

Sydney nodded, not seeing any point in denying the obvious. "I'll have Mrs. Beresford come up later on tonight to see about getting you some clothes. She'll take your measurements and get some clothes made to fit. Just a few basic necessities." He paused. "There are some female sweatpants in the dresser in your room that would probably fit, if you want to be more comfortable."

Sydney perked up at that. "Why do you have female sweatpants?" Sydney asked, unable to still her curiosity. "Were they the last prisoner's?"

"Uh, no…" Sark said, clearly uncomfortable. "They were Lauren's. I offered her this home as a place to stay whenever she travelled in London."

Sydney made sure her face was a mask, but abandoned any wishful thoughts of sweatpants. "Oh."

"Yes, well," Sark grasped for words. "I'll join you later for dinner. Right now, I have to get about settling in. I haven't been here since I was taken into US custody three years ago."

Now it was Sydney's turn to feel embarrassed. She wasn't sure why she was. Sark was a terrorist and certainly belonged in jail. Perhaps it was simply his relatively polite behaviour when she was in his custody. He turned to go, but she stopped him with a question she knew wouldn't wait until dinner. "Why did you use my Kate Jones' alias?" she demanded for the second time. "You must have known Vaughn, Marshall and Dixon would recognize it from SD-6."

Sark turned in the doorway. "When I asked the employee if all preparations had been made, I wasn't referring to the jet," he said, face blank. "I paid him to alter the flight schedules. If the CIA checks, they will think we have flown to Austria."

"Oh," Sydney said again, fighting against the acute disappointment flooding over her. "Yes, of course. You would cover your tracks."

"I'll see you this evening, Agent Bristow."

And he was gone, leaving Sydney alone to despair.


	3. Unspoken Stalemates

**Disclaimer: **Alias belongs to JJ Abrams, ABC and the people at Bad Robot

**Rating: **PG-13, for language and sexual themes in future chapters

**Pairing:** Sydney/Sark, suggested Sydney/Vaughn and Sark/Lauren

**Summary:** When Sydney makes the fatal mistake of trusting Sark with a gun in _Man of His Word, _Season 4, Sark takes the opportunity to revenge himself on Vaughn for Lauren's murder. However, after spending a prolonged time together, Sark and Sydney begin to develop feelings that neither of them anticipated.

**Author's Note: ** An AU version of the events in _Man of His Word_. What might have happened had Sydney trusted Sark with a gun during the fight with Anna at the club. 

Chapter 3- Unspoken Stalemates London 

Sydney spent an agonizingly long day wandering restlessly about her suite, alternatively looking for a way to escape and acquainting herself with what was beginning to look like a very permanent residence. There were no hidden entrances and although the windows were not locked, the surface of the wall was too smooth to scale. She contemplated jumping, but decided a fall to the pavement below would result in a broken limb at the very least. Eventually she retired to the bedroom and flopped down on the bed, mentally exhausted.

The digital clock on her bedside revealed it was only three o'clock. She could not even hope for a visitor, even if it was only Sark, for at least another two hours. Sydney was quickly beginning to realize she was going to be a very restless prisoner. She found herself admiring her mother and Sark for dealing with the extreme boredom of lengthy confinement. She rolled off of the bed, thoughts of days spent bored and alone hardening her resolve to escape.

She flung open the bedroom window and peered around. Her room faced to the driveway and although there weren't any visible guards, she had every reason to suspect there were hidden watchers somewhere on the premises. Sydney would have preferred to wait for cover of darkness, but wanted to be gone long before Sark returned. Working quickly, she ripped the covers off her bed and began tying them together. Vaughn had taught her a few Boy Scout knots, and after testing them, she was sure they would hold her weight for the relatively minimal time it would take her to shimmy down to the ground.

With an excited grin, she flung the makeshift rope out the window. Immediately, the sounds of gunshot filled the air. Caught off guard, Sydney flung herself against the wall and, by instinct, tried not to breathe. The shots silenced, and she heard footsteps running down the hall. Moving quickly she grabbed an ornate lamp that was sitting on the desk in the bedroom and hid behind the bedroom door, just as her suite's door crashed open. "Sydney!" came Sark's shout. Sydney was pleased to hear he sounded worried. "God, what has that twit gone and done?"

He came hurrying into the bedroom and had just enough time to take in the bullet shot sheets, before Sydney hit him full force in the stomach with the lamp. He staggered backwards with an 'oof.' Before he could recover, Sydney placed one foot on his chest and kicked up with the other, catching him in the chin. She landed smoothly on her feet and made a beeline for the door. She was halted by a strict looking woman, with her steel grey hair pulled back tightly in a bun, who looked to be at least sixty. Sydney prepared to charge past her, but was brought up short when the lady slapped her across the cheek. Sydney blinked, caught of guard. Before she could recover, the woman delivered an iron-fisted punch to her stomach, forcing the breath from her.

Grimacing, Sydney prepared to hit the woman, but by this time Sark had recovered. He barrelled into Sydney, slamming her to the ground. He flipped her on her back, pinned her arms to the ground with his hands and immobilized her legs by wrapping his own around them. "This is ridiculous!" Sydney howled, angry with herself for being subdued so easily. She writhed under him, desperately trying to free one limb. "Your household staff are all against me and can use force effectively!"

"That's not ridiculous!" Sark growled, though Sydney saw he was smiling. "That is a strategic move to protect a household. What is ridiculous is that I leave you alone for two hours and you try to scale a wall with my bed sheets! Which are ruined now, thank you very much. Do you have any idea how expensive those sheets were?"

"Get off of me!" Sydney snarled, throwing her body against him. She doubted the minimal force was enough to budge him, but he complied, even helping her to her feet.

"I don't understand you," he complained. "I bring you here in comfort, give you all the best in food and drink…can you not just accept your temporary situation? I promise you, no harm will come to you."

"No harm will come to me?" Sydney said in perfectly frigid tones. As she progressed, her voice became more heated. "Every second I'm with you, I come to harm! When you touch me, I feel tainted. I despise you! You are possibly the most evil person I've ever met, excepting Sloane and my mother. I have seen you kill innocent people- seen you burn them alive to make a demonstration! You kidnap children, for God's sake- Neil Caplan's boy and Dixon's kids! You tortured my best friend, almost had him killed, and had my other best friend murdered! Don't you get it? Every time I see you, I want to rip your heart out. And I hate that, because it makes me like you- some sort of monster!"

Sydney came to the end of her tirade, breathing heavily. Her flashing brown eyes glared into his cold blue eyes and for one moment, she thought she saw a flash of hurt there. But it was quickly gone, if she hadn't just imagined it, and was replaced by cold fury. "I do what my superiors tell me, Agent Bristow," he said, his voice like ice. "As do you, or do I need to point out your years as Julia Thorne?"

"That was work for the CIA!" Sydney retorted. "What I did was to bring the Covenant- a group of traitors you worked for- to justice!"

"Shut up," Sark demanded, grabbing her wrist painfully. "Don't you dare give me that justice bullshit. You went undercover as Julia because you were angry that Michael Vaughn had lost faith in you, just like the little boy he is. You wanted revenge. Which is exactly what you wanted when you first became a double agent for the CIA- revenge for Danny's death!"

"And what's wrong with that?" cried Sydney before she could stop herself, thrown off guard after realizing Sark had checked her personal history.

"Absolutely nothing, love," Sark whispered hoarsely. "At least, not in my books. I think I was wrong about you, Agent Bristow. I think I understand you perfectly."

"You don't know me at all," Sydney protested, a slight quake in her voice.

Sark dropped her wrist, but did not back away. "Maybe not," he shrugged, the smirk back in place. They were so close, Sydney could feel his warm breath against her face when he spoke. She wanted to back away, but found herself mesmerized by his blue eyes. "But at least I've proved I'm human." He tapped her nose lightly, and then turned to the elderly lady who had watched their entire spectacle in perfect silence. "Mrs. Beresford, please take Ms. Thorne's measurements and then provide her with a full wardrobe."

He headed to the door, but then paused at level with Mrs. Beresford. "Oh, yes, I suppose Ms. Thorne will require a new set of bedding. When you're through, I'll speak with you about how her meals are to be delivered." And then he was gone, leaving Sydney with a million thoughts whirling through her head.

She stood in mute silence as Mrs. Beresford took her measurements and then answered her few simple questions about wardrobe preferences. "I should have your things ready for you by Sunday morning," Mrs. Beresford promised in her swift, no-nonsense voice.

"Thank you," Sydney said softly, not even expressing surprise at the swiftness the woman planned to do her shopping in.

Mrs. Beresford turned to leave, but then hesitated. "I know Julian would hate me for saying this, but it must be said. You affect him like no one I have ever seen, unless it was his poor father. I raised Julian until he left for boarding school. He has suffered many regrets. Now, I don't know if you are Julia Thorne or this Agent Bristow he calls you here. And I do not know your business or why he keeps you here, but he is a good employer…and even if he does not show it, he feels things very deeply. That is all."

Then she was gone, just as quickly as her employer. Sydney hastily sat down in an overstuffed chair, lest she fall down, and put a hand to her head. She remained there for most of the evening. She was vaguely aware of the servants who delivered dinner and new bedding, but she didn't pay any attention to them. She did not end up using the new bed sheets, falling asleep in the chair when her thoughts had all worked out.

She concluded that although Sark's past actions were excusable, he had been raised first by a very hard wet nurse in place of an absent father, and then Irina Derevko. It would be a shock if he wasn't confused or misguided. For most of his life, he had carried out her mother's orders- simply wishing to please the one woman who had shown him any kind of motherly affection. Sydney vowed to keep her temper around him and to be civil- to even cease any attempt at escape. Unless, of course, the opportune moment presented itself.

_2 days later…_

Sark grimaced as he realized he had read the same line at least twice in the _Sunday London Times_ without taking any of it in. Disgusted, he tossed the paper down and tried to focus on his breakfast, which was steadily growing cold. It was this dining room that was doing it to him. It should have been a beautiful room. The walls were dark panelled wood. The central piece of furniture was the massive dining table he was sitting at- long enough to seat at least twenty people. One wall held a display case which boasted the impressive silverware collection of the Lazaery family- all inlaid with the Lazaery crest. It made Sark want to retch.

Even the long window giving an impressive view of the grounds couldn't cheer him up- particularly as the view this morning was foggy, damp and perfectly depressing. He hated England and he hated this house- his father's house. He didn't understand why he didn't just leave. His contacts had all responded and agreed on an initial meeting. He could be in Innsbruck now, getting everything ready. His staff was certainly capable of ensuring Sydney did not leave her room or, more importantly, the premises. He sighed, and put down his fork, having now come face to face with the real issue.

For some bizarre, twisted reason, he couldn't get Sydney off of his mind or, more specifically, their last heated exchange. And he knew rationally that if he wished to discuss it with her, it was a mere case of walking up a flight of stairs, yet he had been avoiding her like the plague. He knew why he was avoiding her, of course- yes, he was the perfect self-analyst. She made him lose control, made him say things he had never meant to say. That was a very dangerous thing for anyone in this business, but especially for someone with many weaknesses to hide. Weaknesses that if Agent Sydney Bristow sniffed out, she would use in the field.

Sark was distracted from his thoughts by the arrival of Lawrence Morgan. The old butler, one of three staff left over from his childhood, was carrying six enormous shopping bags. "Mrs. Beresford has completed Ms. Thorne's shopping and requests you take her things to her personally. And I would be most appreciative if you would fetch Ms. Thorne's bowl while you are upstairs. I despise that staircase."

Sark rose and took the bags from Lawrence. "You must be getting old, Lawrence."

"No, sir," Lawrence protested stoutly. "Merely lazy."

"Oh, good," Sark chuckled. "Wait- bowl? Did Ms. Thorne not have an omelette?"

"No, sir," Lawrence answered. "Nancy took it to her, but she asked if she might have Fruit Loops instead."

"Fruit Loops?" repeated Sark, staring at Lawrence incredulously.

"Yes, sir," Lawrence confirmed, not cracking a smile. "Ms. Thorne is a remarkable woman."

"That is most definitely putting it lightly," Sark said under his breath as he made his way to Sydney's rooms.

He paused outside, then let out an exasperated breath and rapped shortly on the door. "Come in!" sang out Sydney's voice. Steeling himself and vowing to give nothing away, he let himself in.

Sydney was dressed in the ridiculous nightgown from Tuscany. Her blonde hair was loose around her shoulders, she was eating soggy-looking Fruit Loops from a silver bowl and watching what looked suspiciously like Loony Toons. He paused for a moment, taking the scene in amusedly. This was not the woman he had watched with open admiration as she kicked the ass of anyone who stood in her way. He almost hated to intrude into her peace. "Good morning, Sydney," he finally greeted civilly.

Watching closely, he noticed her sharp intake of breath, but was otherwise shocked by her calmness. He was perfectly floored, however, when she turned to face him with a smile that was genuine and warm. He had always known Sydney was beautiful, but it wasn't until that moment that Sark felt the flooding warmth of the knowledge that a beautiful woman, just recently awake and natural, was smiling in happiness to see him. All his lovers would have given him a sly smile mirroring his own, nothing this sweet or…innocent. "Morning," she greeted, setting down the bowl. "I was beginning to wonder if you hadn't forgotten me."

"After our last exchange, I thought that would please you." He couldn't help himself.

Sydney blushed. He could interpret this blush perfectly. She was too proud to apologize, but she did regret at least some of what she had said. Sydney was now clearly looking for something to say, and her eyes landed on the soggy remains of her breakfast. "Fruit Loops?" she offered, picking up the bowl.

"No thanks," Sark smiled. "Could I sit down?"

"Oh, yeah, sure," nodded Sydney, sliding over to make room for him. He placed the bags between them on the couch.

"For you," he gestured.

"Seriously?" Sydney asked, surprised. She timidly began to pull things out of the bags. Watching her as she became clearly pleased, Sark couldn't help but smile. He had had a hand in Mrs. Beresford's selection, and it was obvious he had made the right decisions. She piled out everything neatly- two pairs of jeans, two pairs of tan cargo pants, 2 pairs of sweatpants, an assortment of coloured shirts and sweaters, a flowery skirt, a black jogging suit and two pairs of pyjamas- a decidedly sexy nightgown he was secretly dying to see her in and then a comfortable flannel set he could see she adored. Mrs. Beresford had also picked up a few feminine products and several books to help Sydney pass the time.

"Thank you," Sydney grinned, unabashedly. "Oh, jeans- I've been dying to wear a pair of jeans. I'm going to get changed right away!" She grabbed a pair of jeans and selected a simple red, full-length shirt, then dashed into the bathroom.

Sark waited patiently, flicking through the channels. He stopped on a 24-hour news network and broke into a grin. There was a picture of Sydney Bristow on the screen and the reporter was explaining that she had been missing since leaving a club in Venice with "two unidentified men who are assumed to be hostile." Sark could almost laugh. Not even a full week and the CIA had already turned to the public. Of course, they hadn't mentioned that one of the 'unidentified' men was an escape convict, but what could you expect from the US government?

The bedroom door opened and Sydney emerged. For the first time since they had met, Sark saw her freshly showered and with make up and clothes of her own choosing. She offered him another one of those grins and he almost felt sorry for Michael Vaughn. He hastily turned off the television. Suddenly it wasn't funny anymore.

He realized he was staring and averted his gaze. "Good to see you looking civilized again, Sydney," he said lightly.

"I'd look even more civilized if my hair weren't peroxide blonde," she sighed, coming to sit down again.

"It'll fade," Sark shrugged. "I still maintain blondes have more fun."

"Yes, well, you're slightly biased, aren't you?" She looked pointedly at his own blonde hair.

"Perhaps a little," he admitted.

Sydney leant back into the couch. "Well, organizing my new things should give me something to do," she said contently. "Yesterday was absolutely awful! I was actually glad to see you."

"Ah, that explains the grin," he commented. "I was slightly frightened for a moment."

"You remind me of Simon Walker," Sydney said unexpectedly, and in Sark's opinion, randomly.

"I didn't know you remembered Simon, save by what other people told you," Sark confessed.

Sydney shrugged. "I remember some things," she explained. "Enough to feel guilty."

"Guilty?" frowned Sark. He was eager for more of her confidences, so he tried to choose his words carefully. "Guilty for a grade A Covenant thief? That doesn't sound like you." He mentally winced. So much for encouraging conversation.

Sydney, however, smiled. "Guilty for using a man who wasn't necessarily all bad. I think he truly cared for me…or Julia. And he died just after realizing that I had betrayed him."

"I knew him better than you," Sark said, trying to think of something to ease her worries. "He _was_ like me, we worked well together. If he hadn't died, he probably would have had you assassinated…or killed you himself." Sark chose to leave out the fact that Simon had vouched for Julia when his team had doubted her and that one night after speccing out a mission and drinking too much wine, Simon had mentioned 'maybe one day giving it up, settling down…if I could ever get Julia out of the game.' Sark was beginning to realize that Sydney affected the life of most men she met. She was the type of girl who was easy to fall in love with and put thoughts of 'settling down' into the mind of the worst rouge.

"Thanks, Sark," Sydney drawled. "That's really comforting."

"It is also the truth, which is more important," Sark said, then stopped. This scene was completely wrong. He was leaning into Sydney and he realized his hand was occasionally reaching out as though he wanted to stroke her leg, had even touched it lightly at that last comment. Even worse, he seemed to be wearing the most genuine smile he had worn since…since before he could remember. He immediately darted back, wiping the smile off his face. He stood up quickly, causing Sydney to look up, worried. "I have to be going," he said briskly. "I have business to attend to."

"Oh," Sydney actually looked slightly disappointed, but Sark chalked that up to her lack of company. "Any chance of seeing you again?"

Sark opened his mouth to say 'no,' but it came out as "Perhaps, it will depend on how long my business takes." Sydney nodded understandingly. He paused, then continued more slowly. "My business partner should not know you are here…he does not believe in keeping CIA agents alive and the Julia Thorne ruse would not work with him."

She nodded again. "I'll be quiet like a good little CIA agent," she promised with a half-grin.

Sark closed the door on her heading to the bedroom with an armful of clothes to organize to her heart's content. He walked down the hallway, grimacing. Oh yes, it was very easy to get attached to Sydney Anne Bristow. He realized with a groan that when he had said 'perhaps' he had meant 'yes' and that he was already contemplating a dinner menu for that night. This was not going to plan at all.

Los Angeles 

Arvin Sloane had a look that Nadia hated. She had spent the past few months getting to know the man she was coming to love despite his dark past. She knew many of his faces- his irritated look, his angry look, his touched look and even his amused one. But the one face she hated above all was the one he wore now. She called it his 'game face', though 'poker face' would have worked as well. It was perfectly unreadable. Yet she had come to realize it meant nothing good in briefings such as these.

The briefing room was emptier than usual at APO without the magnetic personality of her half sister and the sturdy, silent presence of Jack Bristow. Marcus Dixon was sitting hunched in his chair, his dark, handsome face clouded with unseen fears that were not too difficult to guess at. Marshall Flinkman was nervously twitching his hand, causing his pen to roll across the table every five minutes. Eric Weiss, sitting next to Nadia, had begun to anticipate this and would roll the pen back without looking away from the map of India he was studying. Michael Vaughn, however, was by far the worst off of all gathered save when Jack- who was currently following a lead in New York- was around.

Nadia had once thought Vaughn to be in love with her sister. Although she was no longer certain if they were 'in' love, she could certainly appreciate the fact that they loved each other deeply. The man was a wreck without Sydney. He had returned from the disappointment of Austria and proceeded to drink steadily for the remainder of the day and night. Nadia could almost accept this, but the fact that Eric had felt the 'duty' to join him, had not exactly impressed her. As for herself? She hated the lonely house and missed the comforting presence of Sydney. But unlike anyone else at APO, she had faith in Sydney to take care of herself. She had the utmost certainty that Sydney would be rejoining them eventually. After all, she was a Derevko woman and the one thing Nadia had learned about the legacy she had entered was that a Derevko woman needed no man to look after her.

Her father's voice broke her reverie. "I regret to inform you that we seem to have run out of leads," he said, his tone honestly regretful. "Austria was, of course, an enormous disappointment, but just recently Agent Weiss' lead in India and Agent Bristow's contact in New York have turned out be dead ends." Eric made an exasperated noise and shoved the map away from him.

Sloane cleared his throat, drawing everyone's attention to him once again. "But I am afraid I have more bad news. Langley has ordered us to cease our efforts. They wish to remind us that APO is an information agency, not a search and rescue organization." Her father's biting tone left no doubt as to what he thought of that little reminder.

"So that's it?" hissed Vaughn. "They just expect us to abandon her _again?"_

"That is exactly what they expect us to do, Agent Vaughn," Sloane responded. "Though, off the record, Jack is on extended leave until he is deemed emotionally stable to deal with the loss of his daughter. He will no doubt continue his search in this time. I have the utmost faith in him to recover Sydney."

"Permission to assist Agent Bristow?" Vaughn asked hopefully.

"Permission denied," Sloane said coldly. Vaughn threw down his pen and angrily stalked out of the room.

Sloane pressed a button on his intercom. "Security, please gently detain Agent Vaughn and convince him of the intelligence of returning to the debriefing room. Thank you." He offered the silent group a tight smile and the flashed the picture of a hulking Russian man on to the overhead screen.

"Igor Poladski," he said. "Former bodyguard of Irina Derevko. Privy to the running of her operations and now apparently willing to sell what he knows. We believe he may have recently come in contact with this man."

Vaughn was bodily tossed into the room just as Julian Sark's face flashed on to the screen. Sloane looked up at Vaughn with an undisguised smirk. "What a fortunate coincidence, don't you think, Agent Vaughn?"

"Perhaps I'll stick around after all," Vaughn said stiffly, taking his seat.

"Lovely," Sloane drawled.

Nadia couldn't suppress a grin, as usual, impressed by her father's cunning.

London 

For the third time in a period of fifteen minutes, Sydney changed her mind as to which pair of pants she wanted to wear for the remainder of the day. This indecisiveness did not irritate her as it would have in any other circumstance. She had spent four straight hours reading the novels Mrs. Beresford had supplied her with and was thankful for a new way to pass the time. Every last one of the novels had turned out to be nothing more than drugstore smut paperbacks. Although the foolish stories of romance and sex certainly passed the time, they were not by any means Sydney's first literary choice.

She turned to look in the mirror and smile- finally pleased with her choice of tan-coloured pants, a black tank top and a green zippered jacket. She pulled her hair back in a sleek ponytail, and then flopped down on her couch with a heavy sigh. It wasn't as though she had anything to look forward to this evening- unless Sark chose to return. She had seen an Asian man arrive three hours ago. Listening carefully at her door, she had heard Sark address him as 'Ichino.' They had then proceeded to a closed off room, where they had remained closeted ever since.

Sydney found her thoughts drifting back to her captor many times during the afternoon- which might not have been so unusual had those thoughts been angry thoughts of revenge. Instead, she found herself replaying their last conversation, remembering the unusual warmth in his eyes that made him seem gentle, and even eagerly looking forward to the time when he might again pop into her luxurious prison. She desperately told herself that this was simply her loneliness speaking rather than any form of attachment to Sark.

If she was not thinking of him in a manner she could almost call 'fond,' she was desperately trying to figure out why he wanted to detain her in the first place. She had decided Sark must have planned out the entire scenario in Venice- possibly he was allied with Anna. It was clearly a way for him to finally escape CIA custody, but Sydney could not figure how taking her with him benefited him at all. Her unconscious body would have been more a hinder than anything. Sydney had looked at it from many different angles over the course of the afternoon and had finally come to the conclusion that she must know something that was of more importance than she knew- and Sark must need it.

It was by no means a comforting idea, for it most certainly meant a painful interrogation at some point in the distant future. She found herself trying to guess when it would start, and why Sark had made no reference to it as yet- if it was somehow playing into his plans to delay what Sydney now viewed as the inevitable. Despite his recent charm, which she supposed was a way to trap her into trusting him, Sydney would never tell him anything. "Bastard," she muttered. But it was very hard to say it convincingly when her mind kept seeing that genuine smile and feeling the lightest of touches against her leg.

A sudden burst of raised voices from downstairs distracted Sydney from her thoughts. One of the voices was recognizably Sark's and as the other was shouting angrily in Korean, Sydney assumed he was the man she had seen arrive earlier. She made her way to the 'front door' and pressed her ear against the door, trying to pick something up. She was not fluent in Korean, and Sark had dropped his voice again. She picked out the words 'hell' and 'furious', as well as 'foolish', all of which she decided were not at all encouraging. She tried her doorknob in vain, for of course it was locked from the outside. But then something happened that caused her to use drastic measures to get out of the room.

A loud gunshot rang out, followed by the loud moan of a wounded man. Another shot fired, and the moan cut off ominously. A sudden and uncalled for fear for Sark being shot rose in her throat and before she had thought out a plan of action, she had furiously kicked the door open. She burst into the hall, pleased to see Sark had not placed any guards on her door. She lit off down the hall, running as she had seldom ran before. She slipped down the stairs in relative silence, reasoning surprise would be her best defence against her declared enemy.

She burst into a room she supposed was Sark's office and without pausing, leapt up and delivered a forceful kick to the head of a man leaning over the body of another man. The kicked man staggered forward. "Fuck, Sydney!" cursed a very British voice. Sydney suppressed a gasp of relief and halted the punch intended to catch the man around the ear. Sark turned to glare at her angrily, but catching sight of her face, sighed heavily. Sydney said nothing more, just studied him. He was rather pale and still holding a smoking handgun. His blue eyes also looked suspiciously bloodshot. "How did you get out of your room?" he asked blankly.

"I kicked the door open," Sydney answered. "I didn't think about doing that until I thought you might need my help."

"Me? You were coming to help me?" Sark asked incredulously.

Sydney ignored the question, and moved to look at the dead body. He was about seventy. There were two bullet holes- one in his knee and the other in his jugular. "Who was he?" she demanded. "Why did you shoot him?"

Sark came over to stand beside her and brushed her cheek lightly. "Don't ask questions you know I can't answer, love," he cautioned. Sydney shuddered at his touch. "Still can't bear me touching you?" he asked wearily.

"No," Sydney said honestly. "You have blood on your hand."

Sark hastily lowered his hand. "I'm sorry…I bent down to check his pulse. I suppose it got on my hand." He peered at the bloodied hand, and Sydney realized he was quite shaken. She would never have thought murder would still upset Sark. God knows he was practised enough. She gently pried the gun out of his hand and left it lying on his desk. Gripping his unbloodied hand, she took him into the kitchen.

The kitchen was predictably large and spotless. There was an island with several high stools, and Sydney sat Sark down at one of these. She found a washcloth in one of the drawers and dampened it with hot water. Taking a bar of soap, she returned to Sark and gently began to scrub his hand. He watched her work silently. She didn't try to force conversation and even allowed Sark to rest his head on her shoulder. This new, vulnerable Sark was unexpected, but certainly a nice change. "There you go," she smiled, patting his hand. "Good as new."

"His name was Ichino Chow," Sark said suddenly, still staring blankly at his hand "He was my mentor as a child. He taught me marshal arts and how to fire a gun. He was like the father I always wanted. He always had time to listen to me. Whenever I would have a fight with my father…and there were plenty…or when he wouldn't show up when he said he would, I could always go to Master Ichino and just talk. Just say things that needed to be said."

Sydney was burning with questions, not the least of which was 'then, why did you kill him?' She half-suspected in his current state Sark might tell her, but she knew that it would hurt him dreadfully. She placed a finger against his lips. "You don't have to tell me," she said softly. "We don't have to talk about it, or anything."

Sark looked up at her for the first time and their eyes locked. Before Sydney was truly aware of what was happening, he was gently cupping her face and kissing her roughly. She pulled back, floored. Feeling the heated blush on her face, she looked down at the washcloth clutched in her hand. She leapt off the stool and wrung the cloth out in the sink. "You should do something quickly about the body," she said, fumbling for words. "I don't know if you have people who deal with that sort of thing, but it would raise unwanted questions if one of the staff find it."

"The staff know not to ask questions," Sark said, his voice dull and almost defeated. He took a lengthy pause. "Sydney, I'm sorry…I don't know why I did that."

Sydney hung the cloth up to dry and dried her hands on dish towel. "Don't worry about it," she shrugged. "I've already forgotten." Which was not true at all. She was actually in the process of trying to send him a mental plea to kiss her again. And it was killing her.

Sark gave her a tired smile. "Would you have dinner with me, Sydney?" he asked. "Just as friends…err…prisoner and jail master."

Sydney looked at Sark, unknowingly nibbling her bottom lip. "'Kay," she finally nodded in agreement.

He held out his hand and she took it. "What would you like to eat?" he asked, running his thumb up and down her hand. "We'll have to order in."

"I've been dying for pizza," Sydney said honestly.

"Pizza it is," Sark said, reaching for his cell phone.

The odd pair sat together in Sydney's sitting room and ate slice after slice of pizza, both of them putting aside their serious fitness routine for one night. The conversation was light, safe and full of laughter, pointedly kept on books, movies and music. There was no mention of Vaughn or Lauren, the CIA, Irina or the Covenant, and certainly no discussion of Sydney's prisoner status. Around eleven thirty, Sark got up and kissed Sydney good night on the forehead. She fell asleep shortly after, her mind spinning, and unsurprisingly dreamed of Sark.

The next morning, she was up at six and eagerly awaiting the visit from Sark she was sure was coming. She dressed and did her make up twice before deciding which version she liked best. At nine o'clock, a knock on her door set her heart racing and she hurried to let in the visitor she was sure Sark.

Instead she found Nancy, the maid who had taken to delivering all her meals, waiting with breakfast. Sydney posed her a few subtle questions, hoping to get some sort of revelation on Sark. When this was not forthcoming, she finally abandoned all subtlety and went for blunt forwardness. "Do you know what Mr. Sark is doing today?" she asked the maid she before she left the room.

"Mr. Sark left early this morning," Nancy answered. "I believe he is on his way to Innsbruck."

"Innsbruck?" repeated Sydney, disbelieving. "For how long?"

"Oh, he comes and goes. He doesn't like this house very much, I'm afraid. I understand it holds very few pleasant memories," Nancy shrugged. "He is quite fond of the home in Innsbruck, though. At the very least I should say six months."

She left with a wave, never suspecting that she had caused any distress. Sydney slouched down on her couch, feeling strangely abandon and empty.


	4. A Frustrating Woman

**Disclaimer: **Alias belongs to JJ Abrams, ABC and the people at Bad Robot

**Rating: **PG-13, for language and sexual themes in future chapters

**Pairing:** Sydney/Sark, suggested Sydney/Vaughn and Sark/Lauren

**Summary:** When Sydney makes the fatal mistake of trusting Sark with a gun in _Man of His Word, _Season 4, Sark takes the opportunity to revenge himself on Vaughn for Lauren's murder. However, after spending a prolonged time together, Sark and Sydney begin to develop feelings that neither of them anticipated.

**Author's Note: ** An AU version of the events in _Man of His Word_. What might have happened had Sydney trusted Sark with a gun during the fight with Anna at the club.

Chapter 4- A Frustrating Woman

_Sark panted as he tore down the strip of warehouses he had been sent to by his masters at the Covenant. God, he hated them! They took his inheritance before he ever had the chance to have a little fun with eight hundred million dollars and then enlisted him to do their dirty work. And his mission had certainly been a dirty one. He had been sent to Los Angeles to ID and assassinate an agent who had gone rogue- Julia Thorne. It had seemed like an easy enough task at the beginning. Sark had been the one to pull the trigger in the death of many substantial figures. He very rarely regretted the loss of life, as nine out of ten of his targets deserved to die. But the Covenant had let one little detail slip. Julia Thorne was not Julia Thorne, but a Sydney Bristow who was currently on his heels and mad as hell._

_In all the time he had known Sydney Bristow, he had never even thought of killing her. For one thing, he suspected if he could manage it, there would be many injuries on his side. For another, she was a fascinating individual. Strong and fierce as any agent he had ever come up against, yet as gentle and beautiful a woman as he had ever met. He had pleased himself with many sexual fantasies of Ms. Bristow time and again. He shook his head as he rounded a corner, his black Jaguar in sight. The Sydney behind him would be far more likely to shoot him full of bullets than steal kisses from him under the blistering Indian sun._

_Sark had just considered himself home free when he heard a gunshot and felt the ripping pain of a bullet entering his shoulder. He let out an involuntary howl of pain. Sydney was suddenly in front of him and delivering a powerful kick to his wounded shoulder. He fell to his knees, the pain making his head spin. Sydney elbowed him in the head and he collapsed on to his back. He stared up at the CIA agent, realizing he had finally met the woman who would end his life. She was dressed in black jeans and a light weight black turtleneck with a close fitting black hat over her long brown hair. There was a look of pity on her face. "I really thought you'd give me a harder time of it than that Sark," Sydney chided him._

"_Sydney, I swear…I had no idea you were Julia," he pleaded, throwing pride to the wind. "If I had, I would never have accepted the mission. You know I would never kill you."_

_Sydney rolled her eyes. "You've always had this idea that you and I have some sort of unspoken agreement with each other, Sark," Sydney said, her voice cold. "But you don't owe me anything, and I sure as hell don't owe you anything." _

_She lifted her gun and aimed it between his eyes. "Sydney, no!" Sark shouted, fear of death overcoming him for the first time in his life._

"_Good bye, Julian," Sydney shrugged and pulled the trigger. Sark had time to let out one last scream before…_

…_Sark's eyes opened and his eyes landed on the beautiful sight of his naked lover, Sydney Bristow. She was facing away from him, looking out at the beach in the Philippines where they made their home. He reached over and brushed her shoulder with a soft kiss. She immediately rolled over with a lazy smile on her face. "Morning, love," she greeted, running a finger down his cheek._

"_You are so beautiful, do you know that?" he asked, kissing her on the lips._

"_You keep saying that," Sydney laughed. "Maybe one day it will sink in."_

_Sark smiled and moved his kisses to her collarbone, then further down to the curve between her breasts. He waited for the inevitable sounds of her arousal and was honestly surprised when they never came. Instead, she reached down and pulled his head back up to her own. She kissed him lightly on the lips, with no sign of the passion he was so accustomed to. "Not this morning, darling," she grinned. "This morning I want to take a walk on the beach without any shoes on."_

_Before he could convince her otherwise, she slipped away from him and out of bed. He leaned back in bed, a slow realization coming over him. "Vaughn," he finally said, the name bitter on his tongue. Sydney, rustling around in their walk-in closet froze. Sark sat up in bed, anger, hurt and betrayal washing over him. "It's Vaughn, isn't it? You've been seeing him again? God damn it, Sydney!"_

_Sydney shrugged into a thin white robe and turned to face him, her hands clasped behind her. "No, Sark," she said, her voice trembling. "Its not Vaughn, it was never Vaughn. But it was never you."_

"_What the hell was all this then?" he demanded, gesturing about him helplessly. "We built a home together, Syd, we were happy! Weren't we? Baby?"_

"_I was happy, Sark," she acknowledged. "I really was. But Kendall made me…he swore I'd never know what happened to me while I was missing if I didn't do it…I'm so sorry…"_

_Sark was shocked to find tears in her eyes and he realized she was a deathly white. "Kendall…fuck… this was all CIA?" His eyes focused on her hands that she had finally brought forward and was some how not surprised to see her clutching a gun. "Sydney, don't," he pleaded. "Sydney, baby, I love you. We can find out what happened together…you don't need Kendall or the CIA. You only need me…we only need each other."_

_Sydney was openly sobbing now, and Sark was almost sure he'd reached her. But suddenly her face hardened and she whipped the gun up. "No, no…I won't let you. No one is ever going to control me again after this one last thing. I want you to know though, before you die…that for a while, it was just as real for me as it was for you. I almost loved you, Sark."_

_She trained the gun on him as he sat helpless, unable to comprehend what was happening and how the woman he had planned to marry was looking at him so coldly. _

"_No, Sydney!" he begged._

"_Goodbye, Julian." She pulled the trigger and Sark knew it was over._

Sark bolted up in bed, breathing heavily. For the fifth night in a row, wild dreams of Sydney had shocked him awake, always ending in his death at her hands. The woman had become a drug for him. His nights were filled with nightmares of her and his days were spent remembering their one, swift kiss. It hadn't been like the kiss in Club Vorda. The kiss in his kitchen had been true and honest. Which would explain why he couldn't get her deep brown eyes out of his mind. Sark was usually good at getting women out of his mind and he had tried his damndest these past few days. But the beautiful, righteous CIA agent who certainly had no similar affection for him had successfully managed to find her way into a niche he seemed unable to control.

He regretted leaving without telling her where he was going, without even saying goodbye. But he knew it was probably for the best. He wasn't entirely sure if he'd gone back to her room the morning he left he would have been able to leave. He'd practically had to drag himself out of her bedroom their final night together. Sark couldn't quite figure out the moment the infatuation had begun, but there was no doubt it was there in full force. He had a tingling feeling over his whole body if he was alone that he might turn around and see Sydney grinning at him, and her scent haunted him at night when it had no right being in his bedroom in Innsbruck, Austria.

He didn't even have the option of reminding himself Sydney was the enemy. He had never really considered the agent to be an enemy of his, even when she was CIA and he Covenant. Now that he was his own boss, and could appoint his enemies, he knew there was no way he could add the slip of a woman to that list. He rubbed his forehead. At this rate, it was much more likely he would instruct his men to avoid harming her at all costs. He heaved a sigh and gave up on sleep, rolling out of bed and shrugging into a deep blue robe he had draped over a nearby chair.

His thoughts still heavy and dark, he walked over to his dresser and retrieved a large tumbler and filled it to the brim with good, rich whiskey. He then took a seat out on his balcony and looked up at the night sky, heavy with stars. He supposed Sydney was asleep now, her mind void of any worries, unless it was when he was going to let her go. He leaned back in the chair, draining the tumbler quicker than he had expected. He considered going back for another, but decided against it. What would hopefully be the concluding meeting between himself and the three assets he had chosen to share in his enterprise would take place early the next morning and he wanted to be on his top form.

He stood and leaned over the railing, still fascinated by the dark night sky. He had always loved the night sky, but there was something that drew him more towards the moon, especially one like this evening. It was a cold, white and edged with a simple halo of light. It was cold and distant, unlike the shining stars that seemed to beckon mere mortals to them. Sark had always hoped he managed to capture something of the moon in his own carriage, but that evening he would have given anything to be warm and funny, or whatever it was that captured Sydney's attention in a man. He growled in frustration at the direction his thoughts had turned and gave up on his 'no more drinks' policy. His thoughts would never get a moment's peace without a few good strong shots.

**Innsbruck**

Sark, still nursing a headache from the previous night's moping, watched his companions closely, his eyes tuned to pick up any weakness the three assets might reveal. First off, and most trustworthy of all three, was Igor Poladski, his former employer's bodyguard. Although Sark had been privy to many things that went on under Irina as 'The Man', Poladski had been closest to her and knew everything that went on. He was an undeniable asset and an intelligent man. Irina would never consent to being protected by a man who could not at least carry on a half decent conversation. And to carry on a half-decent conversation with Irina Derevko was no little task. Poladski would have spent his entire time on his toes, ensuring that Irina was pleased. He was, however, a hulking Russian man, who was handy with any weapon he happened to pick up. Although his financial assets were decidedly depleted, the intelligence he brought with him more than made up for that.

The second man was Joshua Frou, a Scandinavian gentleman who had at one point had substantial standing in the KGB. He was a clever bastard and had predicted the downfall of his agency almost a month before it happened- more than anyone else in the world could claim. He had already drifted away from the KGB before Sark had approached the organization and had been far away enough to make a clear break. His financial attributes had not even been touched and no agency- not the M15 or CIA could prove he had anything to do with the terrorist organization. Since the downfall of the KGB, Frou had been inactive, content to live in peace save his brief excursions with the Italian mob, which is how he had managed to be invited here. He was a good friend of Antonio and was eager to get back in the game- Antonio had not had to do much convincing before he agreed to meet with Sark.

The third partner, and the individual who would hopefully run the organization, was Tai Ichiniwa, a Chinese woman who was known worldwide for her cunning move of infiltrating the Shing Bet for three years before being made. What was more impressive was that she had managed to escape and return to her masters at the ECR safely. Within two months of that return she was basically in control of her organization. For women field agents, Tai was possibly the best in the secret service community, unless it was Julia Thorne- the woman acknowledged for bringing down the ECR a year and a half ago right under Tai's nose. Sark allowed himself a smile. Sydney was absolutely amazing. He shook his head, angry with himself for being distracted and continued running over what he knew about Tai. She was eager to get back into the spy world, and Sark had known upon contacting her that she would probably insist in having operational control of what was being referred to as the Guild. This suited Sark fine. He didn't want to be behind a desk, planning out missions and dealing with bank accounts. He just wanted to be back in the field with an organization backing him that he knew had his best interest's at heart.

Sark leaned back in his chair. "So, friends," he smiled, causing them all to look up from the contracts he had drawn up with Antonio's assistance. "You have had plenty of time to read over the contract. Do we have an agreement?"

"I will sign," Poladski said without reservation. "Irina always spoke highly of you, Mr. Sark. Irina was an excellent judge of character. I suspect we can be assured of many good things under you."

"Under me, you mean," Tai spoke up, leaning over to reach for a pen. "Mr. Sark has agreed I may have operational control."

"I look at this as more of a coalition," Sark confessed. "But, yes, Ms. Ichiniwa, you may consider yourself first among equals."

"I will," she said coldly, no warmth in her glance. She turned to face Frou. "And what of you, Joshua? Certainly you will not miss out on all the fun?"

Frou, frowning darkly, pulled his contract towards him and pulled a silver pen out of his inside pocket. "I see no fun in attempting to find the base of Covenant operations and recover Mr.Sark's eight hundred million dollars," he complained. Yet he signed his name, and pushed his contract towards Sark.

"But you do see something fun in receiving one hundred million of that money, am I correct?" Sark inquired. He gathered the other two contracts and slipped them in his briefcase. He stood, fighting down the exuberance bubbling up inside of him. "I thank you, gentlemen, Ms. Ichiniwa. I am sure our collaboration will be one of the utmost efficiency, perhaps even rivaling the glory of the Alliance, KGB or the ECR."

"I should hope that we should surpass their glory," Poladski growled in his thick accent. "You will remember that those organizations were all defeated in the end."

"Of course," nodded Sark. "Now, I believe that we should spend very little time in Innsbruck together. We all have very…wanted…faces. I suggest returning to wherever you chose to reside and putting your resources together to find the Covenant base. If you have any information, you will be able to contact me here. Thank you for your time."

Tai immediately stood up and, giving her new allies a short nod, exited the conference room. Sark knew he could trust his household staff to see she left the property immediately. Just because she had signed a contract that gave her considerable power, did not mean that that minx was trustworthy. Sark would not put it past her to betray her own mother, let alone three men who were practically strangers. He found himself momentarily entertaining a fantasy of locking Tai and Sydney in a room and seeing who would emerge the victor. Despite all of Tai's cunning and backstabbing, Sark was willing to bet on his CIA agent.

"Well, she's certainly a friendly little bitch, isn't she?" Poladski joked brashly.

"Gives we gentleman more time for pleasure though," Frou said. "I would not complain if I were you, Igor."

"Eh?"

"If either of you desire it, I have taken to keeping a few constant female companions with me that we could use as our celebration…"

Sark let himself drift away in his own thoughts, not particularly caring about Frou's whores. His mind was on an entirely different type of girl. He was sick of this constant nag in the back of his head and he was sick of wishing Sydney was with him. He didn't care if it was some sort of mad infatuation. It was one he could afford to condone for the time being. He would consider it his own personal celebration party. He was going home. Though, he had to admit, this would be the first time he had ever considered the English manor a home of any type.

"So, Mr. Sark?" Frou asked. "Will you join us?"

Sark's head darted up and he realized he had lost track of the conversation, though he assumed they were still discussing Frou's harem. "Uh…no, no thank you," he declined. "I have to take a business trip, actually. I am scheduled to leave as soon as our meeting is finished."

"Then we won't keep you waiting," Poladski said genially. "Just remember, all work and no play, makes Sark a dull boy."

Sark chose to ignore the small barb about his age. "Where does your business take you?" Frou inquired.

"To England," Sark answered honestly. "I'm meeting a…very valuable contact."

"Does your contact know anything that will help us?" Igor prodded, suddenly interested.

Sark smiled secretively. "Let us just say I am very eager to speak with her," he eluded. "Allow me to show you gentlemen out."

**London**

Sydney glared out at the sunny England day. The temperatures were warm for this time of year and the whole world was just begging for her to come out and run with it. She wasn't a sentimental person, but even she could appreciate that obvious plea from Mother Nature. Yet she was stuck inside a cold, empty English manor, forced to pass her days with drugstore paperbacks, bad television and long hours filled with thoughts of Mr. Julian Sark. For the first four days, she had held to her own personal promise faithfully. She would not attempt escape, even if he had abandoned her to loneliness and boredom. She couldn't exactly expect him to put his whole life on hold to baby-sit a prisoner of inconsequential standing. But by the fourth day of his absence, she realized that was exactly what he should do. If she had to be locked up, the least he could do was come and amuse her. He had kissed her for God's sake! Surely he didn't find her company unbearable. On the fifth day she had pocketed the steak knife that came with her supper and now, six days after Sark had killed his mentor, she was preparing a plan of escape.

She had come to like Sark's household staff, especially Lawrence and Nancy, the maid who brought her meals. Even Mrs. Beresford had charmed her in some strange way. But that didn't mean she would be content to stay here for six months without any news of the outside world. And by outside world, she meant the spy world. If Sark had seen fit to abandon her, then she was released from her promise and it was high time she was on her way. She had decided that she would not re-attempt her scale of the wall, but simply walk out of the house as though she had every right to it. The marksmen would not immediately open fire, as many of the servants left each day and went home around five o'clock, which was in exactly ten minutes. It was time to get ready.

Nancy had allowed her to go out for a stroll around the house yesterday. She had immediately broke into one of the maid's room and stole her spare uniform. She changed into the uniform- a fairly run-of-the-mill maid's outfit. It was a simple black dress that hung just to her knees and had a white tie over apron that wrapped around her neck and then covered to her mid-thighs. The shoes were simple black pumps. Sydney brushed her hair out and then twisted it into the sleek bun she had noticed Nancy wearing. Shrugging her shoulders, she saw it was now 4:58. Close enough to five to suit her liking.

The only big problem would be getting out of the room. If there was no one around, she could simply kick the door open and proceed downstairs. However, if someone was passing by, she would immediately have to begin fighting her way out. She pressed her ear to the door. She couldn't hear anything, and hoped that meant there was nothing there. Taking a deep breath, she kicked the door open. It didn't take too much pressure and she silently thanked the shabby locksmith who had made the locks. The hall was blissfully empty. She smoothed her apron down and walked swiftly to the staircase.

At the top of the stairs, she paused, trying to steady her breathing. It was important nothing about her looked suspicious. She slowed her pace descending the stairs, trying to look like nothing more but a weary employee ready to go home after keeping a house for a master who was never home. A man she had never seen before her, nodded to her. "Are you new, miss?" he inquired innocently.

"Yes," Sydney confirmed, putting on a British accent. "It was my first day."

"Did you have a good day, then?" he asked.

"Oh, quite a good one," she nodded cheerfully.

"Well, then hopefully I'll see you around sometime soon," he said with a grin that said he was enjoying the sight of her long legs that the dress flaunted.

"Certainly," Sydney smiled slyly. She continued down the stairs, thinking to herself _'You'll never see me again if this works out.'_

She reached the first floor and headed to the door. Her breath caught when she realized Lawrence was rummaging around in the hall closet for something. She would have to walk right past him and if he turned he would certainly recognize her. She continued on steadily though, knowing there was no going back at this point. As her heels clicked past him, he turned, but not so early that her back wasn't too him. "Have a good night," he wished her.

"You too," Sydney sang out, disguising her voice. She opened the front door and closed it behind her, resisting the urge to breath a sigh of relief. She lifted her face to the setting sun, reveling in the feel of it on her face. She was free! Now she would simply walk to the gate and inform the man there that she was waiting for a cab. As long as it wasn't the man who had been there the first time she had entered Sark's home, she would be home free.

She walked lightly down the front steps, knowing there was a huge smile on her face. Hopefully any watchers would just attribute that to the relief of the end of a day. She realized that it was Friday and knew that a weekend off would be just the thing to trigger the smile on most people's faces. She was about half way to the gate when two very unlucky things happened at once. The gate began to swing open, letting in a long black stretch limo. Sydney couldn't say how she knew, but she realized that without a doubt Sark was in that car. Just as that realization hit her, the front doors slammed open. "Stop that woman!" Lawrence yelled. "Stop that woman! She's a prisoner!"

The back door to the limo was swinging open and Sydney kicked into gear. She reached the door before it was too far open and slammed it shut, hearing Sark groan as he slammed back into the car. She lit off towards the still open gate, but before she reached it, two guards moved in to block her path. She leapt up and with a frustrated yell, kicked the nearest guard in the face. He went down hard. The second guard moved in and punched her hard in the stomach. She was knocked backwards, but lashed out at him quickly. She elbowed him in the neck and kicked him in the balls. She let out a victory yell and began to head for the gate again. However the first guard had now recovered and grabbed her around the waist. The second guard made the mistake of coming forward, and Sydney used the first guard to lift her feet off the ground and kicked the second guard in the nose. She landed on her feet and delivered a hard, swift kick to her captor's knee cap.

She felt the cartilage break and he let go of her, howling in pain. Ignoring his obvious agony, she knelt and relieved him of his gun, in case any other guard should try to halt her. She heard footsteps running towards her and immediately raised the gun, training it on her new enemy. Sark.

She found herself inexplicably caught off guard. She had half known he was here, but seeing him was so much different. He was dressed in one of those ridiculously expensive Italian suits that fit him without fault. His hair was slightly messy, no doubt from the door hitting him. His blue eyes were trained on her, an unreadable look in his eyes. As soon as he saw the gun, however, a look of horror spread across his face- the look of a man who woke to see his nightmares were reality. Sydney realized the gun in her hand was shaking, and she steadied it, mentally preparing herself to shoot him. Not to kill, just to injure enough for her to escape.

"Hello, Sydney," he said, his voice quaking. Sydney couldn't understand why he was so frightened. It would not be the first time he'd had a gun trained on him.

"Hello, Sark," she drawled, pleased her voice did not quiver.

"You're a very frustrating woman," he said, his voice now bitter. "One moment you appear to be the very best of confidents; sweet, honest and loving. The next moment you have a gun trained on me, ready to kill me."

"Not kill you," she said quickly. "I, unlike you, don't kill without need."

Sark moved a bit closer, obviously relieved to hear that. "Put the gun down, Syd," he pleaded. "Its too late. There are more guards coming. You'll never get out."

"Don't call me Syd," she ordered harshly. "And how do you know that shooting you wouldn't be enough for me right now?"

She must have displayed some sort of weakness, because Sark moved even closer, reaching out and taking hold of her arms. "Come on, Sydney," he whispered. "Come inside with me."

Sydney knew that she should pull the trigger, that there was still time to get away. But somehow, with the heat of his body pressed against hers and his blue eyes locked on hers, she couldn't find the strength or will power to pull that trigger and deliver a bullet would to his side. She slowly let the gun drop and winced as she heard it hit the ground. "Good girl," Sark said, a soft smile on his face. "I knew you didn't want to do that."

"You have no idea what I want," Sydney said, sulkily.

"No, I really think I do," Sark argued. He looked back at his limo driver, who was holding a gun, still trained on Sydney. "It's all right, Devon. Just bring the food."

"Food?" Sydney raised her eyebrows.

"Chinese take-out," Sark answered. "For you, my dear."

Sydney rolled her eyes, and then let out a small gasp as Sark reached down and scooped her into his arms. "What the hell do you think you're doing?" she demanded. "I can walk, you know."

"Oh, I know that too well," Sark smiled. "Which is why I don't quite trust you to not run away as soon as my back is turned."

Sydney realized that plan had already been half formed in the back of her head, so she consented to being carried. Sark walked as though he was unburdened and for a moment she couldn't help but marvel at his amazing strength. She knew Vaughn was strong, but Sark carried her as though she was a small child. There was something comforting in the lean feel of his hard muscles against her body. She resisted the urge to rest her head against his shoulders. Somehow, she felt safer than she could ever remember feeling. Lawrence was waiting for them at the front door. "Welcome home, Mr. Sark," he greeted, a knowing smile on his face.

"Thank you, Lawrence," Sark said amiably. "Its good to be back."

"That is a slightly different attitude then we're used to," Lawrence said bluntly.

"Times have changed," Sark said simply.

"Apparently."

Sark carried Sydney into a room she had not seen yet. It was a type of sitting room, with a large fireplace and two very comfortable looking couches. A large coffee table sat in front of one of the couches. There was a state of the art stereo system and sliding doors that led out on to a deck that overlooked an outdoor pool she wasn't aware existed. There was also a large golden retriever that came bounding over upon catching sight of Sark. He barked happily and trailed them closely as Sark sat Sydney down on one of the couches.

He then turned his attention on the dog, running his hands through the thick golden fur and scratching behind his ears. "'allo, Max," he greeted, one of those rare smiles playing on his face.

The limo driver, Devon, entered carrying two large brown bags. Without saying anything, he unpacked many cartons of Chinese food, two paper plates, chopsticks, and a bottle of wine. He left for a moment, but then returned again with two wine glasses. "Good night, Mr. Sark," he said, with a bow of his head. Sark nodded and then began opening packages of Chinese food.

"Please, help yourself," Sark offered.

Sydney, by now feeling rightfully ashamed of herself, began to serve herself. She hated this ashamed feeling. It wasn't as though she was doing anything wrong trying to escape. She certainly didn't owe Sark anything. But the fact that he had clearly planned an evening together only to find her trying to escape yet again, was not one that settled easily on her conscience. When they were ready, Sark hit play on the stereo, and the sounds of Josh Groban flooded into the room. Sydney stifled a smile. She didn't know if Sark enjoyed the young opera singer or if he had found out that he was one of her favorites, but either way she was pleased to hear the rich baritone again.

They sat eating in silence for a while, but eventually Sydney spoke up. "I didn't know you had a dog," she admitted, looking at Max, who was curled up in front of the fireplace.

"He's not mine," Sark answered. "He's Lawrence's. But Max and I get along all right. When I'm here, that is."

Sydney nodded, chewing on her egg roll. She risked a look over at Sark. He was eating mechanically, glaring at his food. She could tell that he was displeased with her, and felt for some reason as though she owed him some sort of explanation. "They told me you weren't coming back for six months," she finally said, angry that there was the sound of begging for forgiveness in her voice.

He looked up, shocked. "Six months? Who told you that?"

"Nancy," Sydney answered. "She said that you had left for Innsbruck and that you were usually gone for long periods of time, because you hated this house. She said we wouldn't see you for at least another six months."

"I never said six months," Sark said. "I had to go to Innsbruck to meet some clients. But I always intended to return as soon as that was over."

"Well, I didn't know that," Sydney complained. "You didn't even tell me you were leaving."

It was now Sark's turn to look guilty. "I had to leave," he reasoned. "I had the meeting all set up and I couldn't stay here…not after what I did to Ichino."

"You could have told me you were leaving," Sydney chided him. "I didn't even know you were gone."

Sark stood up and came to sit beside her. "I'm sorry, Sydney," he apologized, and she could tell he was sincere. "I didn't know my absence would cause you such pain."

"It wasn't your absence," Sydney said hastily, though she was half sure that's exactly what it was. "Do you know what its like to be stuck inside for a week, alone, while the sun is shining?"

"Yes," Sark answered. "I also know what its like to not be able to see the sun."

Sydney lowered her head, remembering once more exactly how much worse his situation had been when he stayed with the CIA. She tried to remind herself that he was a terrorist and she was being held for unknown reasons, but it wasn't working as well as it once would have. She looked up again, avoiding eye contact with him. "I love Josh Groban," she smiled.

"I know," Sark said offhand. "Allison hates classical or opera music. She was always complaining that she had to pretend she liked it when she was with you."

Sydney allowed herself a small laugh, then leaned back into the couch. "You just know me through that woman, don't you?"

Sark nodded. "But I'd like to get to know you for you," he said daringly.

Sydney smiled a little. "Well, unless you're planning on letting me go any time soon, I'm sure you'll have the opportunity."

"Well, that's only incentive for me to keep you locked up forever," he teased.

Sydney glanced over at him, and was pleased to see he once again wore that genuine smile. She felt that when he smiled like that, he was letting down the façade he wore for everyone else, though she knew in her heart that that smile could easily be just another mask he felt would work with her. She realized that it was working quite well, façade or no. "I'm sorry," she whispered hoarsely.

"For what?" he asked, the smile still lingering on his face.

She wanted to say for running away, but knew he would certainly laugh at her and say it was expected, so she opted for something lesser. "For hitting you with the car door," she laughed a little.

"Well, I suppose I deserved it," Sark shrugged. "Beware anyone who tries to halt Sydney Bristow's escape plans."

Sydney allowed herself another laugh. But she had a sinking feeling she wouldn't be trying to escape anytime soon.

The next morning, Sydney had just stepped out of the shower and was wrapping herself in a white, bulky towel, when Sark walked unannounced into her room. She quelled the sudden urge to cover herself and gave him a smile. "Thanks for knocking," she teased.

"It's my house," he shrugged, sitting down on the edge of her tub. "Besides, you look lovely."

"Pervert," she sighed half heartedly.

"Oh, most definitely," he agreed, not even bother to disguise the way his eyes were trailing along her wet body. Suddenly however he lifted her eyes to hers and smiled. "I think I like your eyes best of all," he announced. "Do you want to come on a walk with me?"

"On a walk?" Sydney asked eagerly. "Outside?"

"Yes," Sark nodded. He rose and came to stand beside her, looking at them both in her bathroom mirror. "As long as I'm with you, and you promise not to try and escape, there's no reason you shouldn't be allowed outside."

A huge grin spread across Sydney's smile, causing Sark to wear one of his own. "Thank you," she said, genuinely touched by his gesture. Looking at them both in the mirror, her in a towel and him in one of his amazingly gorgeous and undoubtedly expensive outfits, she couldn't help but think what an attractive, almost domestic looking couple they made.

Sark unexpectedly kissed her on the cheek, and Sydney made no attempt to pull away. He smiled softly and laid a hand on her shoulder. "I really do want you to be happy here, Sydney," he told her honestly. "I'll let you get changed and then meet you downstairs."

"Okay," she nodded.

He paused in the doorway, looking back at her. "You must admit, Sydney, we do make an extremely attractive couple."

"Oh, get out of here," Sydney laughed. He grinned before exiting the bathroom. Sydney waited until she was sure he was gone, before laying a hand to her head. This was not good. Not good at all.


	5. Sanctuary for Two

**Disclaimer: **Alias belongs to JJ Abrams, ABC and the people at Bad Robot

**Rating: **PG-13, for language and sexual themes in future chapters

**Pairing:** Sydney/Sark, suggested Sydney/Vaughn and Sark/Lauren

**Summary:** When Sydney makes the fatal mistake of trusting Sark with a gun in _Man of His Word, _Season 4, Sark takes the opportunity to revenge himself on Vaughn for Lauren's murder. However, after spending a prolonged time together, Sark and Sydney begin to develop feelings that neither of them anticipated.

**Author's Note: **An AU version of the events in _Man of His Word_. What might have happened had Sydney trusted Sark with a gun during the fight with Anna at the club. 

**Chapter 5- Sanctuary for Two**

Sark drew many of the staff's eyes as he entered the English manor carrying a small bag from a popular designer situated in the heart of London's shopping area and whistling. He was half aware of their glances, but couldn't bring himself to disguise his state of contentment. He had only been back at the manor for a week, but already the time spent in Sydney's company had seemed to sooth over any dark memories the old house had once carried. Now he strolled through each room and remembered the moment spent there with Sydney. The kitchen was now filled with her laughing as they had attempted to cook spaghetti last night and the large dining room had been brightened by the memory of a small food fight. Sark found himself unable to make any pretence at keeping Sydney locked up in her room and had given her full run of the house sometime early yesterday afternoon, save his private fourth floor. It made finding her more difficult, but the smile on her face had been more than worth it.

He caught sight of himself in a hall mirror and almost blushed. He was dressed in one of the most casual outfits he owned- a pair of beige cargo pants and a black tee shirt. He had resisted the urge to style his hair that morning, knowing that Sydney would feel more comfortable around him if he appeared less than perfect. Making Sydney comfortable was quickly becoming one of his top priorities. Despite the week they had spent together - one he regarded as being absolutely perfect- he could sense that she was still slightly uneasy around him. He hoped that after more lazy days, he and Sydney would be completely free of any apparent awkwardness.

He finally found his 'prisoner' in one of the sun rooms on the third floor. She was curled up in a wicker chair reading his personal copy of Harry Potter, one in English. Her hair was pulled back in a very messy bun, with several wispy strands hanging over her face. There was a slight smile on her face, showing her clear amusement in the story of the young boy wizard. Sark paused outside the door and leaned against the doorframe, taking advantage of the moment to watch the CIA agent. Not for the first time he reminded himself that his plan involved sending Sydney back to Agent Vaughn. He knew whatever he was feeling was extremely dangerous and that no matter how strong it appeared, he could never let Sydney see exactly how deep it went. He knew that they felt very different things. She was simply taking pleasure in realizing an old nemesis wasn't a complete bastard, and he…well, he was developing feelings that went well beyond friendship.

"What are you doing hiding in the shadows?" Sydney said suddenly, looking up from her book.

He came into the room with a smirk. "Looking at you, of course," he answered.

"What a charming stalker you make," Sydney drawled, marking her page and closing the book. "Where'd you go this morning after breakfast?"

"I told you," Sark said, coming to sit in front of her feet and fighting back the smile he knew would reveal exactly how much he worshiped her. He made sure to place the shopping bag behind him and out of her sight. "I had some errands to run in London."

"I know that," Sydney agreed. "But what errands?" She frowned, an unpleasant thought suddenly occurring to her. "Actually, maybe I don't want to know. It didn't have anything to do with…"

"With whatever organization I'm allying myself with currently?" Sark asked bluntly. They had avoided talk of work and their past like the plague, but Sark knew that Sydney had reasoned out that his business in Innsbruck must have had to do with his upcoming method of employment.

Sydney almost visibly winced. "We don't have to talk about it," she said hastily. "I really don't want to know."

"We don't have to talk about it right now," agreed Sark. "But eventually we will."

"I don't plan to be here long enough to care who you work for," Sydney snapped sharply.

Sark fought back a wince of his own. That had hurt far more than she had intended it to. He again reminded himself that the plan was for her to go back to Agent Vaughn and that, for the moment, that was where she would rather be. "Well, considering who you work for, that's probably in my best interests," he responded, trying to keep his tone light. "But we both know this discussion will only end in you trying to kill me. As I've become selfishly used to being safe in your company, I have an alternative succession."

"Oh, really?" Sydney asked with a raised eyebrow, clearly not planning on letting the conversation go so easily.

"Yes," he said firmly. He drew the bag around him and handed it up to her. "This is for you." She looked more than slightly taken back.

"Sark…you have to stop buying me things," she protested, but began to open the bag.

"No, don't open it here," Sark said quickly, getting to his feet. "Go and try it on in the room next door. Then come here and show me."

Sydney looked at him suspiciously. "Is there a bomb in here?"

"No," he said with an indulgent smile. "Not exactly. Just go try it on."

She grinned and almost skipped into the other room. Sark took up her place in the wicker chair and waited impatiently, knowing exactly what a treat he was in for. He didn't have to wait long. Years switching aliases and disguises had made Sydney a quick dresser. She sauntered into the room, her long silky brown hair hanging free around her shoulders and grinning gleefully at his gift…a decidedly attractive, and not to mention expensive, bathing suit. It was elegant in its simplicity. A black bikini that was scanty enough to satisfy him and modest enough to suit Sydney's ideas of propriety, it revealed her ridiculously toned midriff and the lean legs that went on for miles. The black top was accented by a golden loop between her breasts and he had also added a black sarong to make her feel more comfortable in front of him. He had known Sydney would look stunning, but he hadn't predicted his mouth would go so dry.

He also just managed to not jump on her and attempt to ravish her. Instead he settled for leaning back in the chair and giving her his most lusty smirk. "Agent Bristow, I hope you won't mind me saying that I bought this more for myself than you."

"Oh, shut up," Sydney hushed. But there was a slight twinkle in her eyes that revealed her pleasure at the comment. "You really are the biggest pervert I've ever met."

"Easily when you're concerned," Sark conceded. He rose and took her hand. "Come on. There is one other thing I want to show you." He led her to the little-used elevator. His father had had it installed when his mother became too weak to walk up from her beloved kitchen to her bedroom. If there was one thing Sark could say for Adrian Lazaery it was that he had loved his wife, if not so much his son.

As the elevator made its way down from the first and second floors into the basement, Sydney snuggled up closely to him, undoubtedly chilled by her bare feet on the metal bottom of the elevator. "You didn't need to buy me this, Sark," she chided him. "But I'm glad you did."

"That makes two of us," Sark teased. She shivered a little and he took the opportunity to have an excuse for putting his arm around her. "You're not cold, are you?"

"A little," she admitted. "Not quite as cold as when you shot the ice out from under my feet in Siberia and landed me in freezing cold water."

Sark felt a stab of guilt in his stomach. He remembered running from Sydney's screams at Irina's insistence in his ear. He had almost hoped that she would have begged him for a place in his pod, though he had always known she was too proud for that. "I'm sorry about that," he said stiffly.

Sydney laughed. "If we're both going to apologize for every injury we've ever caused each other, we're going to be here for a very long time."

The elevator doors slid open and Sark gave her a smirk. "Maybe later then." He ushered her out and into a large arena that held a large, indoor pool. Sydney's eyebrows raised.

"Impressive," she nodded.

"Thank you," Sark grinned. "I didn't buy the bathing suit just so I could look at you. That was merely a perk."

Sark was quite proud of the indoor pool that was his favourite part of the manor. The interior had been styled to look like the interior of a Japanese geisha hotel with panelled oak walls and wooden floors. The actual pool itself was on two levels- the upper being a lap pool that flowed into a lower swimming pool. There was also a large hot tub and an enclosed wooden sauna. As Sydney walked away from him and began taking in her surroundings, he self-consciously buried his hands in his back pockets. "I won't be able to stay here with you all the time," he explained, slowly following her. "This might cure you of some boredom."

Sydney stopped on the edge of the swimming pool and peered into the water, her face looking troubled. Sark came to stand beside her, hoping she might explain what was suddenly bothering her. She said nothing, and refused to make eye contact with him. "Sydney…are you going to say anything?" he finally prodded.

Still looking into the water, Sydney blushed. "Sark…you've been so kind…but you have to understand…I'm supposed to be a…"

Sark, sensing what was coming, angrily cut her off. "I cannot believe you're still going to complain about being a prisoner! If that's what you really want, you can give me back the bathing suit and we'll lock you in the…"

In the middle of his rant, Sark was completely caught off guard when Sydney suddenly rammed into him, knocking him backwards into the water. A hundred thoughts ran through his head as he sank, but the foremost was that Sydney had decided to try another escape attempt and was already on her way up the elevator. He kicked furiously back to the surface, cursing himself a fool for becoming attached to a CIA agent. His anger was so consuming, that he wasn't exactly sure how to react when he resurfaced and found Sydney standing on the edge, laughing at him.

"What the hell was that for?" he asked, completely bewildered.

Sydney shrugged. "Nothing, really. Just a laugh."

"A laugh…?" he repeated.

"Yeah," Sydney confirmed, kneeling down by the pool edge. "It was the first time I've seen you not in one of those expensive suits. I wouldn't feel bad about ruining the cargo pants, so I took the opportunity."

Sark tread water, and looked up at Sydney, fighting down a laugh. "You are perfectly ridiculous, you know that?" he demanded.

"Probably," agreed Sydney, still laughing.

Sark glanced to where he knew the security cameras were focused on them. It was a wonder the alarms weren't already blaring. If he did what he was planning to, his staff would all know within the hour. But, looking up at that beautiful woman, he realized it was just another thing he could forget to care about. He lunged forward and grabbed her around the waist, dragging her into the pool. She shrieked and wrapped her arms around his shoulders as they crashed back into the water. They sank, tangled up in one another, and Sark fought back a grin at the wonderful sensation of weightlessness with Sydney Bristow in his arms. They let go of each other once their feet brushed the bottom and floated back up to the top.

Sydney resurfaced with her long brown hair in her eyes and a grimace of her face. "Thanks," she drawled.

"Serves you right," Sark shrugged. She rolled her eyes and ducked down underwater again, sweeping the hair back.

"I figured it was only necessary that I demonstrate my version of breaking the ice," Sydney teased, floating lazily on her back.

"Oh, very funny," Sark drawled, swimming along beside her. "Really witty."

They reached the shallow end and Sydney relaxed up against the wall, her eyes closed and wearing a smile that Sark had come to recognize as one of perfect happiness. He knelt in front of her, fighting the urge to reach out and touch her cheek. She opened her eyes and the smile faded. "They'd all put me in chains if they saw me right now," she observed, her voice low with disappointment. "And I can't say they'd be wrong to do it."

Sark sighed, having suspected that this was a conversation they wouldn't be able to avoid much longer. "You're happy though," he made his own observation as he took a place next to her up against the wall. "Couldn't they appreciate that?"

"Maybe Nadia," shrugged Sydney. "And possibly Eric and Marshall. But Dixon? My dad? Vaughn? I don't think so."

"They can't love you very much if they would begrudge you your happiness," Sark said mercilessly.

"Sark, don't be unfair," Sydney chided him. "Dixon, Dad and Vaughn all have very good reasons to hate you. And they would understand something I keep telling myself, but just don't accept."

"And what's that?" Sark inquired.

"That this…whatever this is…is extremely unhealthy."

Sark said nothing, but he supposed he must have looked hurt or confused, because Sydney let out a groan and sank beneath the water, swimming away from him. Groaning himself, Sark followed her and was waiting beside her when she came up for air. "Unhealthy?" he demanded, anger taking over hurt. "That's how you viewed this week? I don't know about you, but this has been one of the best weeks I've ever had!"

Sydney tried to avoid eye contact with Sark, but he gripped her arm, forcing her to look up at him. She bit her bottom lip and let out an exasperated noise. "It has been a very good week, yes," she finally admitted. "But lets be honest, Sark…it has to end and when it does, the longer we've spent together, the harder doing our jobs is going to be. I doubt these new people of yours are allied to the CIA, which means eventually we'll be ordered to kill each other." She bowed her head, unable to look into his chilling blue eyes any longer.

Sark dropped her arm and moved closer, gently lifting her chin. "Sydney…I am my new employer. I'll control our operations. I can make sure you and I never meet in the field again. And anyways, that's a distance future. Right now, I need this. I've needed a break…a haven for as long as I could remember. And I know you need this too."

Sydney sighed, but stopped arguing, which Sark took as her consent to remain where they were for a while. He swam back from her, smiling happily. "What about you?" she said suddenly. "What would your people think if they knew you were keeping me here, like this?"

"My people?" Sark laughed. "I don't really have people…just business associates."

Sydney swam towards him. "Everyone has people who care about them," she reasoned. "There must be someone."

"There was Lauren," Sark said quietly. "And she would probably do the same thing all my business associates would do…kill me for treason."

Sydney bit her lip again. "I'm sorry…I forgot you're taking bigger risks."

Sark managed a grin and tapped her chin again. "I'm also getting bigger rewards. I get to sit here and look at you."

"Oh, shut up," Sydney laughed.

Sark gave her a smirk and then peeled off his wet tee shirt, annoyed by the way it clung uncomfortably to his chest. Sydney watched him openly and then took in his chiselled chest and the many angry red and white scars that crisscrossed it. She timidly reached up and tenderly laid a finger on one particularly large white mark. "You've really had a rough time of it, haven't you?" she breathed softly. Her warm breath caressed his wet chest, and he barely managed to fight down a shiver.

"You're not much better off," he observed, reaching out and tracing a white scar on her back shoulder he knew she had received from her fight with Allison. He felt her shiver under his touch and he knew that at least some part of her felt what he was feeling. He brought his one hand up slowly, trailing up her shoulder, down across her collarbone and then up on to her face.

She looked up at him and there was an unreadable look in her eyes that he wanted to interpret as disguised passion. He brought his other hand to wrap around her waist and pulled her into him, bending down to kiss her. Their lips had almost touched, when she suddenly pulled back. "Vaughn," she whispered.

Sark abruptly let her go, feeling angry, but most of all embarrassed. "Vaughn," he repeated coldly. "Do you mean to tell me that you actually still care about the man who got married less than two years after he thought you were dead?"

Sydney bowed her head, unable to meet his gaze, and whispered something unintelligible. "What?" he snapped.

She looked up at him fiercely, her eyes shining with unshed tears. "I said I love him."

Sark felt as though she had plunged a knife into his stomach. He turned without another word and waded out of the pool. He had to force himself not to run as he reached the deck. He grabbed a towel from one of the poolside chairs and wrapt it around him, silently cursing himself a fool. He had opened himself up more than he had to any female he was unsure about, only to be shut down so fully…it was more than he could take.

"Sark!" Sydney called, sounding pitiful.

He whipped his head up to look at her. "Don't, Sydney," he ordered. "I've really had enough embarrassment today. I don't think I could stand watching you fumble your way through some sort of touching apology."

He was pleased to see he had hurt her with his sharp tongue. He made his way towards the elevator. Hundreds of emotions flooded him- regret, hurt, anger, embarrassment…maybe even something like love. He fought the urge to turn and look at her, afraid he would find himself running back and begging her to give him a chance. But when he entered the elevator, he didn't have any choice. She was still standing in the pool, dripping wet and looking so sad, sad and beautiful. His heart caught in his throat and he stammered out "I'll see you at dinner."

She smiled at him through her tears and nodded in agreement just before the doors closed behind him. He leaned against the back of the elevator as it made its way to his bedroom on the fourth floor.

"Bloody hell."

* * *

Sark sat alone in his study for a good three hours, berating himself a hundred times over a fool. He had intended on doing some paper work to calm himself down, but so far he had only managed to spread the files on his desk and click his pen open and close about a hundred million times. He knew that he should be phoning contacts who might have leads on the Covenant or analyzing the data once more to see if there was anything he might have missed. But all he could think about was her. The way the water had made her skin- tan from a life spent in Los Angeles- glisten and the way he longed to kiss her inviting lips with all the passion he could muster. Rather than data, he found himself analyzing her and everything she had said. He knew that he hadn't misjudged the feelings her shiver indicated, and there had mostly definitely been a hint of morose when she had turned down his advances.

He concluded that Sydney felt something for him, whether she liked it or not. But Agent Vaughn had proven to be more of difficulty than Sark would have ever given him credit for. The sickeningly righteous agent, who only defied the rules if Sydney's safety demanded it, was not enough of a man for Sydney. He could only see the perfect, shining figure that she presented to the world. Sark was convinced that only he himself could truly understand every façade Sydney had. He could understand that although he might adore the shining figure like every other person, that there was a human with flaws and emotions behind it. He knew that for Sydney to put herself in the persona of Julia Thorne, there had to be some darkness in her soul that almost mirrored his own. He was beginning to understand that darkness like that required someone alongside you to help face it, and he was determined that he could help Sydney accept hers.

In fact, during those three agonizing hours, the most he accomplished in regards to the data, was indulging in a fifteen minutes fantasy involving sharing the data with Sydney and figuring it out with her, resulting in gloriously taking down the Covenant together and living peacefully on the eight hundred million. Not exactly the most productive fifteen minutes of his life. Every ten minutes or so, he would remind himself that the point was to seduce Sydney…to make her fall in love with him in an attempt to hurt Vaughn. He was beginning to realize that in order to do that, he might have to feel a little bit of affection for the agent…a task that was deceptively easy.

"What's the point?" he finally growled, chucking his pen down on the desk and closing his laptop. He seriously doubted there was anything to be found in his collected data anyways. He had gone over it many times before. For all he knew, the Covenant could have spent all of his money, and not replaced any of it. They were just incapable enough to neglect paying back their support fund.

The ringing of his cell phone gave him temporary relief from his tormenting thoughts. He picked the phone up off his desk, thankful he had chosen to leave it in his office that morning rather than have it go swimming with him. The memory brought a smile to his face, and he answered the phone in a good mood. "Sark," he said shortly.

"Good afternoon, Mr. Sark," came the chilly voice of Tai Ichiniwa.

"Ms. Ichiniwa," he drawled, forcing thoughts of Sydney to the back of his mind. "How perfectly lovely to hear from you. You left our last meeting rather abruptly."

"You can hardly blame me," Tai said bluntly. "I hardly wanted to spend an evening with whatever whores Joshua Frou had managed to scrounge up. I'm sure you boys had a lovely time without me."

"I am afraid I was unable to join Mr. Frou and Mr. Poladski," Sark felt the need to make her aware he had not been unfaithful to Sydney, although she knew nothing of Sydney and there wasn't exactly anything for him to be unfaithful to. "I had to return to London to meet with a contact."

"You mean you had to hurry back to your own personal friend," Tai practically smirked. "In the form of a beautiful CIA agent my sources confirm is…Julia Thorne? Or better yet, Sydney Bristow."

Sark felt his mouth dry, but spoke quickly to make it appear as though her knowledge meant nothing. "I am impressed, Ms. Ichiniwa. I must confess, I thought I was being discreet."

"I have a…personal…interest in Agent Bristow," Tai shrugged. "It is not just any agent who can so easily defeat me. I have kept tabs on her since she returned to the CIA. I had men inside Club Vorda. Even if I hadn't, I would have assumed you had abducted her."

"Really?" Sark practically rolled his eyes. "And why is that? Have you developed ESP without informing the Guild?"

"Hardly," Tai said scornfully. "You give yourself far too much credit for discrepancy. Any spy with any dignity is aware of the strange fascination you've always held for Agent Bristow. You gave yourself away during our week in Innsbruck. It was clear to me that there were other places you would rather be."

Sark was growing angry. Not with Tai, but with himself for being so careless as to actually give his counterparts emotions to read into. Sydney was proving to be very bad for business. "I trust you did not call me to discuss my relationship with Sydney, Ms. Ichiniwa?" He winced almost as soon as the words had left his mouth. He had given Tai far too much to go on.

"Your _relationship_ with Sydney?" she repeated with a low, incredulous laugh. "You're on a first name basis, are you? And that righteous bitch has consented to a _relationship_ with the murdering terrorist who kidnapped her? Surely you can't expect me to believe that, _Julian."_

"Your point of calling?" he reminded her through gritted teeth.

She dropped her mocking tone. "I have received an extremely valuable lead on your assets. I believe we should be able to make a full recovery. I have already contacted Frou and Poladski. I took the liberty of arranging another meeting at your home in Innsbruck tomorrow evening."

"How kind of you," Sark growled. "I suppose I will see you then, Ms. Ichiniwa."

"Will _Sydney_ be joining us?" she inquired dryly.

"Go to hell," Sark growled. He hung up to the sound of her amused chuckles.

He picked up his pen again, clicking it up and down as thoughts ran through his head. This unexpected turn of events was highly unwelcome. Not the discovery of his money, of course, but Tai knowing about Sydney. He would not put it above her to send the CIA a tip or at least blackmail him with the information. Normally his own discomfort would have been foremost in his mind, but instead he found himself worrying about whoever she had tailing Sydney. She could have been in constant danger, and would be once again after she left the safety of his manor. All the more reason to keep her with him.

He frowned, realizing that he would once again be leaving Sydney. He knew it would be next to impossible just as strongly as he knew it had to be done. He rang for a ticket to Innsbruck, and then spent another half hour thinking of Sydney, and how to make up with her before leaving for Austria.

* * *

Sydney was in the middle of a lengthy yoga workout when Sark entered her room. After a week spent in Sark's company, Sydney had become used to him barging into her room at any hour of the day unannounced. She had almost begun to expect it, but when he quietly came into her room five hours after their fight by the pool, she was yet again surprised by the terrorist. She had come to know him better than she had ever thought she wanted to, and had assumed they wouldn't actually see each other for at least a day, no matter what he had said before he left. She could admit to herself that she regretted pushing Sark away and had wanted nothing more than his lips on hers. But she knew her duty to Vaughn. Things might not be exactly perfect between them, but she could easily recall that Vaughn had been with her through every up and down of her life and she owed it to him to stay faithful. She would make no advances with Sark- or any man- until everything had been sorted out between them.

But she could also admit to herself that when Sark came into her room, wearing a black Armani suit, a dark purple shirt and an expression that was an attractive mix between humility and affection, she had to concentrate very hard to avoid throwing herself into his arms immediately. Instead she settled for a soft 'hello.'

"Good evening," he greeted formally. "Do you mind if I sit down?"

"No, of course not," Sydney said quickly. He must have been really thrown for a loop if he was sticking to such niceties. He normally acted as though he was in his own home, which, Sydney reasoned, he was. Sark sat down on her couch and Sydney moved from the floor to the other cushion on the sofa. They sat in silence for a moment, just looking at each other. The awkwardness was so thick that Sydney felt suffocated.

Sark suddenly took a deep breath. "I'm sorry, Sydney," he said in a rush. "I was acting like a complete idiot. I know what's between you and Vaughn and I shouldn't have tried to cut in on it."

Sydney blinked as he caught her off guard for the umpteenth time. She tried to remember back to a time when she had believed that she understood Sark. "It's okay," she said hastily. "I was probably encouraging you unintentionally." She saw the hurt look on his face and quickened to remedy her slip of the tongue. "Not that I wasn't complimented…I just shouldn't be encouraging anyone." She chose not to add the 'especially not a wanted terrorist' that was on the tip of her tongue.

"Oh," Sark said dully. He stared at his palms for a moment, but then looked up with his smirk back in tact. "Well, serves me right, yes?"

"No," Sydney said firmly. "You didn't deserve that at all."

His look softened and he reached out to squeeze her hand. "Thank you." He cleared his throat and slowly let go of her hand. "Unfortunately, I have to leave to go back to Innsbruck tomorrow. But, please notice that this time, I'm telling you."

"Duly noted," Sydney laughed, fighting down the disappointment in her stomach. She wouldn't blame Sark if he wanted to leave London after what they had gone through, but she knew that his return to Innsbruck meant his return to crime and the end of their temporary haven.

"I wish I could stay here," he said honestly. "But…I was just wondering, if, for our last night together…you would be interested in joining me for a dinner for two on the upper balcony."

"On the fourth floor?" Sydney raised her eyebrows.

"Yes," Sark nodded.

"I'm not allowed on the fourth floor," she reminded him.

"Times change," he shrugged with a sheepish grin. Sydney returned the grin and got to her feet, eager to see the previously forbidden fourth floor. "Wait, before we go," Sark intervened, catching her hand. Sydney raised an eyebrow at him. He jumped up and opened the hall door, retrieving something he had left outside. "You should put this on."

He handed her a dress bag that contained an elegant navy blue dress with straps that crisscrossed all up the back. Sydney estimated that it would fall just past her knees and reveal just the minimum swell of her breasts. She took the bag, with her mouth slightly open in surprise. "Sark…you have to stop…"

"Buying you things, I know," he grinned, reaching into his jacket and pulling out a small box from an inner pocket. "But your reaction is just too attractive to miss." He opened the box to reveal an intricate gold necklace that would go perfectly with the dress and matching earrings.

Sydney looked up from the jewellery to Sark, touched. She knew that accepting the gifts was only encouraging him, but she also knew that there was no way she could make herself refuse. "Give me fifteen minutes."

He grinned and let her duck into the washroom with her things. Sydney quickly slid into the dress and wasn't surprised to find that, although modest, it clung to her every curve. She fastened the necklace and earrings into place and then swept her hair up into an elegant bun that left strands of her chestnut hair framing her face. She quickly touched up her make up and gave her reflection a nervous smile before rejoining Sark.

He leaned back in his chair when she came out, a smile on his face that Sydney had thought she would hate seeing from anyone who wasn't Vaughn. "How do I look?" she asked, doing a little spin.

"Absolutely perfect," he said softly.

Sydney laughed and grabbed his hand. "Come on, you. I want to see this fourth floor."

Whatever she had been expecting, it wasn't what she got. The fourth floor was decidedly smaller than any of the floors, almost as though it was an attic. If it was an attic, it wasn't like any attic Sydney had ever seen. There were three rooms- an office, a sitting room with a fireplace and a closed door she suspected lead to Sark's bedroom. Sark led her into the sitting room, which was the room the balcony was off of.

The balcony had been transformed. It was a large, marble oval with Romanesque columns on the railing. It looked out over the grounds, which were softly lit by glowing lampposts. The balcony itself was lit by two lamps in each corner and a host of delicate candles placed artfully on the edge of the railing. There were roses entwined in the railings and a soft violin playing in the background. There was a table set for two resting in the middle of the balcony. Sark shot her a smirk and held one of the chairs out for her.

"You should not have done this," she scolded him half-heartedly.

"Probably not," he agreed, pouring her a glass of Chateau Peruse. "But, I did. So, as they say in America…dig in."

"I don't think the term 'dig in' was ever used in the Bristow household," she laughed, although she complied readily enough. Dinner was an excellent steak and chicken alfredo.

"Well, you weren't your all-American family, were you?" Sark teased.

"No, I suppose my mother was Russian, wasn't she?" Sydney agreed.

"I was thinking more of the bit about your father being a CIA agent and your mother being the KGB agent sent to spy on him," Sark said off-handily. "But you know, yours works too."

"Oh, thanks," Sydney drawled. It was strange, she thought to herself. Anyone else who had made such a light tone about her parents would have earned her scorn for a good month. But somehow with Sark, she didn't mind. She was sure he could say anything and still have her laughing.

"Always here to give you your sharp dose of reality," Sark shrugged around a mouthful of steak.

Sydney laughed at his table manners. "Close your mouth," she laughed. "What happened to the classy spy?"

"Well, I don't know if you've noticed, but you have been a very bad influence on that spy," he said, voice suddenly serious.

Sydney, shocked by the sudden change of tone, glanced up and her eyes locked with those shocking blue ones. She was caught by the human emotion she saw flooding them. She was used to those eyes being filled with anger or cruel amusement as the owner caused her pain. Unconsciously she leaned into him, unaware that her brown eyes were mirroring the look in his blue eyes. Sark's breath quickened and he suddenly tore his eyes away. "Eat your pasta," he said coolly. "You don't want it to get cold."

The rest of the meal passed awkwardly, with forced small talk. Sydney felt perfectly awful as the last bits of food and wine were cleared away by Lawrence. Their last night together had been underlined by the tension that had been mounting all week despite their best efforts. Sark got up unexpectedly and walked into the sitting room. The violin music turned off and was replaced by a Latin salsa. Sark sauntered back on to the balcony. "Will you dance with me, Sydney?"

Sydney looked up at him, astonished. She was sure she had never mentioned to him her love of dancing. She felt her face light up, and knew the awkwardness of the evening had just melted away. He held out his hand and she took it, letting him help her up. They moved together in perfect rhythm, Sark's hands running lightly up and down Sydney's back as he easily led her through the sensual Latin dance. Dancing was just one of the many talents they had both picked up over the years and their eyes never left each others, each confident enough to let their feet move in muscle memory. Sydney felt her breath quicken and a faint perspiration formed on her forehead, one she was sure had nothing to do with the quick dancing.

Sark wore a smile that was almost a smirk, save his eyes that gave away the earnestness he felt. Sydney had to admit he was easily the best dance partner she had ever had. He never fumbled or hesitated for a moment and she once again felt the undeniable safety of his arms. The music came to an end and they stayed frozen, clutching desperately at each other, hearts still pounding to the music. Sydney knew she was shaking, and she could feel Sark tremble and tense at her caresses that she suddenly realized she was delivering. She saw what he was going to do the moment before it happened and made no move to stop it. He drew her roughly to him and kissed her. Deeply, passionately…it had all the emotion of her most memorable kisses with Vaughn, and something that Vaughn had never managed to capture. There was a desperateness, the desperate need of a man who had found something to live for and knew that it was one thing he could never possess wholly.

Comparisons of Sark to Vaughn brought Sydney crashing down to her senses and she gently broke the kiss, but could not find the strength to pull away when Sark leaned into her forehead. "You cannot tell me…that you feel that… with your Agent Vaughn," he said hoarsely, the wildness still shining in his eyes.

Sydney felt as though he had punched her in the stomach. Of all the things to say in that moment, he had easily picked the worst. "You fool," she moaned, pushing him away. "Why did you do that?"

He grabbed her wrists, gently but firmly. "I am not letting you leave me," he vowed.

"I have to go," she pleaded. "God knows I don't want to, but I have to." She kissed him swiftly once more, and then broke away, fleeing from the balcony. She did not look back, but the unmistakeable sounds of Sark overturning their dining table haunted her down to her room on the second floor.


	6. Seeing to Business

**Disclaimer: **Alias belongs to JJ Abrams, ABC and the people at Bad Robot

**Rating: **PG-13, for language and sexual themes in future chapters

**Pairing:** Sydney/Sark, suggested Sydney/Vaughn and Sark/Lauren

**Summary:** When Sydney makes the fatal mistake of trusting Sark with a gun in _Man of His Word, _Season 4, Sark takes the opportunity to revenge himself on Vaughn for Lauren's murder. However, after spending a prolonged time together, Sark and Sydney begin to develop feelings that neither of them anticipated.

**Author's Note: **An AU version of the events in _Man of His Word_. What might have happened had Sydney trusted Sark with a gun during the fight with Anna at the club. 

Chapter 6- Seeing to Business Innsbruck

"I am not used to being kept waiting, Mr. Sark," Joshua Frou announced through clenched teeth. He was lounging in his office chair at the foot of Sark's long table in what he had referred to as 'The Conference Room.' Frou had already finished off one tumbler of brandy and the hard liquor was making him more arrogant than normal.

"That makes two of us," Sark said unsympathetically. He was far from impressed with the shenanigans of Tai Ichiniwa. She had kept himself, Frou and Poladski stranded in Austria for a week and a half, as she continued to delay the meeting she herself had called. She had promised him over the phone yesterday morning that she would attend their conference the next day at 3:30 in the afternoon. It was now 4:00 and they had neither seen nor heard from her. Sark was beginning to suspect that she was double crossing them and giving away their locations to whatever agency she was really working with. He had doubled the guards around the perimeter and had a helicopter on standby to pick him up should the need arise.

"You should never have given operational control to that woman!" Igor Poladski complained loudly, cracking his knuckles. "She's only interested in this agency for a means to an end that none of us can guess at."

"That may be true," Sark allowed. "But as long as she is willing to work with us, I'm willing to use her talent. The moment she looks like defecting, I have arrangements for the proper countermeasures."

"Well, that will no doubt be appreciated if we can catch her defecting," Frou ranted. "But what if that is what she's planning right now? She could be talking to M16 or CIA right now."

"Or she could be standing behind you, having just completed an astonishingly difficult mission that will lead to all of your benefits," came the cold drawl of Tai Ichiniwa as she swept into the conference room, accompanied by Sark's Austrian butler. She was dressed in a long black trench coat and carried a silver briefcase.

"That too," acknowledged Frou, without the decency to look ashamed. "Do you mind telling us where the hell you've been?"

"Were you never taught it is improper to use vulgar language in front of a lady?" Tai inquired scornfully, nonchalantly sauntering to the head of the table and laying the briefcase in front of her chair.

"I see no lady present," Frou sneered.

Sark didn't manage to break into their bickering until Tai had made an extremely 'vulgar' comment about what Frou should do to his birth mother. "Please!" he snapped. "I was under the impression I was running an organization of capable spies, not a grade eight class."

"You are running neither, Mr. Sark," Tai turned her glare on him. "I, however, _am _running this organization. And now that we have completed phase one of our operations, I will be dictating where we go from here."

"Excuse me?" Poladski grunted. "What do you mean we have 'completed' phase one of our operation? I thought this meeting was called so we could discuss a valuable lead that could possibly assist us in completing phase one."

"Well, that was the original intention," Tai admitted. "But while you boys were dawdling here in luxury, myself and a trustworthy team infiltrated the Covenant's Australian sever farm and were able to fully recover Mr. Sark's assets. It would appear the Covenant paid back their debts. They kept Mr. Sark's money in a holding fund and relied mostly on interest." She popped open her briefcase and withdrew a laptop. She flipped open the computer and turned the screen towards her flabbergasted business partners. "I look the liberty of having the amount agreed upon transferred to each of your bank accounts, despite the fact that you were all uninvolved with the retrieval."

Sark half collapsed into his chair. He took a moment to recover himself, and then glared up at Tai. "Do you mean to tell me that you took on a mission of this magnitude without even consulting any other members of the Guild?"

"That is exactly what I mean to tell you," nodded Tai. "I saw no reason why I should not. If I did not act quickly, the Covenant may have discovered they had been made."

"You couldn't find the time to make a simple phone call to at least get permission to carry out this op?" Poladski exploded.

Tai frowned around at her male counterparts. "I don't know what you are all so distraught over. The mission was a perfect success…and you are all one hundred million dollars richer. Or, in Mr. Sark's case, five hundred million dollars."

"But what would have happened if you had failed? Been captured? Tortured?" demanded Frou, his eye twitching unnaturally. "At best you would be beyond our reach and we would be back at the beginning with no leads. At worst, you could have given away the secrets of the Guild and our whereabouts."

"There is no point in worrying about what might have happened," Tai shrugged. "Besides, you boys know I never lose."

"Except to Sydney Bristow," Sark tossed in the insult, and immediately regretted it.

Tai turned to look at him, a mocking laugh dancing in her cold eyes. "Yes, but you've taken her out of my way, _Julian."_

"What?" demanded Poladski, his interest peeked. "Do you mean to say Agent Bristow is out of action?"

"That is encouraging, if it is true," Frou grinned. "That woman has been a pain in my ass and anyone else's who dared to cross the CIA's path."

"You will be pleased to know Mr. Sark has taken Agent Bristow into private custody, then," Tai smirked.

"Have you really?" grinned Poladski. "Now that is something to celebrate. She's a pretty thing…I wouldn't mind paying a visit to that prisoner, Sark. If you don't object."

"I'm afraid I must object," Sark said shortly, fighting the boiling rage threatening to overspill. He could think of nothing more pleasing at the moment than the thought of choking Tai Ichiniwa to death. "I am trying a new experimental procedure of breaking down an agent. I want nothing to tamper with the results."

"_Does your method involve wining, dining and giving pretty gifts?_" Tai said in Chinese under her breath.

"Say that again, and slowly, woman," Poladski complained. "We don't all speak ten different languages."

"I wouldn't expect it of you, Igor," Tai said coolly, not taking her eyes off of Sark. "I know you've had difficulty mastering your own native language."

Igor leapt to his feet, rightfully insulted, but Frou held him back. "Easy there, old boy," he soothed softly. "Shall we revisit a certain lady I introduced you to last time we stayed in Austria?"

"Yes, Igor," agreed Tai, brushing him with a scornful glance. "Hurry back to your whore."

Frou practically had to drag the huge Russian out of the room. "Contact us when we have something important to speak of," Frou snapped as he exited. "I'll have the maid collect our things."

After the door closed and the sound of their voices faded away, Tai let out a laugh that had none of her earlier coldness. "Julian, you mustn't get angry with me," she chided him almost flirtatiously. "I sometimes let my tongue run away from me."

"Apparently," Sark said dryly, not taking his eyes off of the woman. "But no more of your games, Tai. Sydney is no concern of yours."

Tai's lip twitched a little as he referred to Sydney by her first name, but Sark was too tired to care. No, tired wasn't the right word. The right word was in withdrawal. He was longing to see Sydney again, despite their last parting. He had kicked himself numerously over his stay in Austria. Kissing her again would have snared her, but instead he had let his own tongue run off and had made some dry comment about Vaughn, reminding her of her infidelity. Next time he would be more careful, next time she would stay in his arms. The cold voice of the Chinese spy interrupted his fond plans. "You don't really care for her, do you, Julian?" she inquired. Sark realized she had dragged her chair over next to his and was leaning forward. "Of course, Bristow's pretty, but everyone knows she fucking that CIA agent. She wouldn't look twice at a pretty little piece of spy trash like you."

"You have absolutely no grasp on the personality or desires of Agent Bristow," Sark said coldly, feeling a pang of jealously in his stomach. Did everyone in the world think Sydney and Vaughn were the ultimate power couple?

"I, on the other hand," Tai continued, ignoring his last comment. "Have full appreciation for a man of your, many talents."

Sark raised an eyebrow in Tai's direction. "I hope that wasn't your attempt of hitting on me," he drawled.

"And if it was?" Tai inquired with another smirk. "You and I would be good together, Julian. Both reckless, and willing to do anything to get to power. Send the little CIA girl back to her handler, or kill her…I don't care. Just don't make the mistake of thinking the two of you could ever have any sort of successful relationship."

"Oh, and I suppose you and I could?" Sark rolled his eyes.

"I think we could get the job done," Tai admitted. Sark paused, looking Tai up and down. There was no doubt she was an attractive lady, and she was probably right when she said they would 'get the job done.' But an offer of sex that would have once had Sark panting, no longer aroused any interest. All he wanted to do was go home to London and lounge about in the sun room with Sydney. Maybe read to each other, listen to Josh Groban and possibly earn himself a good night kiss that would lead to sex when they were both ready. He froze, realizing the directions his thoughts had suddenly taken. When had life stopped being about sex, crime and wine?

He realized Tai was still awaiting his answer. "Let's face it, Ms. Ichiniwa," he said coolly. "You and I would end up killing each other."

"And you and Ms. Bristow won't?" Tai growled. "Or if she doesn't, you don't think Agent Vaughn will have…words…with you? Everyone in _our_ world knows she _loves_ him, and everyone in the _entire_ world knows he loves her. You can't just overlook that minor, insignificant detail."

Sark had had enough. "Get out of my house."

"Oh, struck a nerve have I?" she grinned. "You know she doesn't care for you, then? Does she still try to kill you on sight?"

Sark leaned forward and pressed a small buzzer built into the table. Almost immediately the door swung open to reveal his own bodyguard. Sark was capable of taking care of himself, but there were some guests to his home in Innsbruck who needed a little persuasion. "Please escort Ms. Ichiniwa to her vehicle, Sanjay," he instructed.

Tai could take a hint, and didn't argue when Sanjay roughly took her arm and began pulling her out of the room. She was already out of Sark's mind by the time the door closed. His thoughts once more revolved around the CIA agent waiting for him back in London. He wanted nothing more than to fly back home immediately, but he knew that before going back he needed some advice, advice on how to deal with a woman. He pulled out his cell phone and dialled the number to a residence in Tuscany. After all, who knew more about love than the Italians?

**Los Angeles**

Vaughn blearily peered into the soggy dregs of his coffee, his mind wandering off again in thoughts of Sydney. It had almost been a full month since they had been parted in Venice and he had fallen into a depression almost as deep as when he had believed her to be dead. It was impossible that the CIA had absolutely no leads on where Sydney was being held. Vaughn grimaced and leaned back, draining the bitter, black coffee. Actually, it was perfectly possible. APO was no longer officially able to look for Sydney, and the Missing Persons Unit were more interested in recovering children and innocents, not a fully capable CIA agent who had been known to show a little rouge behaviour now and again.

Forcing himself to come back to reality, Vaughn focused foggily on what Sloane was saying about a possible terrorist threat in the East Indies. "Now, as nothing has been officially confirmed, the CIA can't be seen to be investigating. Nadia, Eric, you'll go in posing as tourists. See Marshall for the full op. We need to be fully aware of exactly what Natagar is planning."

Vaughn looked around at his comrades. Dixon was taking notes, his mouth pursued in a frown. Nadia and Eric had their heads together, whispering either about their budding relationship or their upcoming mission- with those two it was hard to tell. Sloane was looking around at all of them with a disgustingly proud look on his face and Marshall was playing with his palm pilot underneath the table. In that moment, he hated all of them. They had all been able to revert back to some semblance of normal life, to continue on with their day to day without Sydney. But the guilt was eating Vaughn up.

He knew it was guilt, and not any particular worry for Sydney. Vaughn knew that Sydney and Sark had some sort of understanding he had never shared. Sark would never hurt Sydney in cold blood. They were bloodthirsty enemies only in the field. Furthermore, Vaughn knew that Sydney was perfectly capable of taking care of herself and charming her way out of captivity. And Jack, one of the most cunning agents to ever pass through the front doors of the CIA, was on her trail. He would find her. But until then, Vaughn could only mope about what an awful boyfriend he had been the past few months.

Lauren had effected him more than he had originally dared to admit. It was only now, looking back, that he realized there had been times he had been downright cold to Sydney, letting his dead ex-wife make him not as trusting or as fully able to give himself to any woman, even Sydney. He vowed for the umpteenth time to remedy that mistake as soon as he had Sydney back in his arms. "Mike? Mike…you're not sleeping with your eyes open, are you?" came the joking voice of Eric. Underneath the mirth though, there was a hint of worry.

Vaughn blinked and gave his friend a shaky smile. "No, no, I'm fine. What's up?" He looked around the room and realized the conference room had been deserted besides himself and Weiss.

"What's up?" repeated Eric. "The meeting's over…you can go home."

Before Vaughn could say anything, the door barged open and Jack Bristow came stalking into the room, Nadia and Sloane following him. "Jack!" Vaughn felt the name burst from his mouth. Surely this unexpected entrance meant he had something on his daughter's whereabouts.

Jack hurriedly plugged his laptop into the screen in the APO conference room and began opening up files. "I'm assuming you're here because you have something on Sydney?" inquired Nadia, her breathless voice betraying her impatience.

"Possibly," Jack acknowledged. He brought up the image of a pretty but hard looking Chinese woman exiting a brick building. "This is Tai Ichiniwa, used to be ECR before it was brought down a year and a half ago by Sydney in her time with the Covenant. Two days ago, she and a skilful team entered the lodgings of a Covenant server farm in Australia where she successfully stole eight hundred million dollars."

"That's a hell of a lot of shopping sprees," Eric observed dryly, earning himself a whack from Nadia.

"She then transferred one hundred million dollars to her own personal account and the accounts of Igor Poladski and Joshua Frou. The remaining five hundred million was given to the private account of a one Julian Sark. I believe that these four individuals form a new organization I've been tracking for sometime. They call themselves the Guild. Until now, I thought Tai herself must be heading it, but the difference in money leads me to believe Sark's the man in charge."

"Sark in self-employment?" frowned Nadia. "That's a rarity."

"Did you follow Tai afterwards?" Vaughn asked eagerly. "Where did she go?"

"To Austria," Jack answered. He paused for what Vaughn could only assume was dramatic effect and then allowed himself a sly grin. "To a private residence of Mr. Julian Sark, who was present when she arrived."

Vaughn felt a grin growing on his face and saw it mirrored by Nadia and Eric, even Sloane was wearing a triumphant smirk. "I've got Sark tracked, of course," Jack informed them. "At the moment we believe he is heading to Tuscany. I have a tactical team on standby in the Tuscan area. If they see Sydney, they're to move in immediately."

"And if not?" Sloane inquired.

"We keep following him," Jack shrugged. "Eventually he'll bring us back to her."

"Well done, Jack," Sloane said heartily. "I'll inform Langley immediately."

"Tell them I think I've got enough of a grip on myself to return to active duty," Jack said with something almost like a twinkle in his eye. Sloane left, and Eric and Nadia followed him shortly thereafter.

Vaughn was left facing Jack. "Is she going to be all right, Jack?" he asked frankly. "Tell me she's going to be all right."

Jack looked up from where he was closing down his computer. "There is one thing I thought you had learned about my daughter, Agent Vaughn," he said. "As much as it pains me to admit it, she resembles her mother in several aspects. The most significant of these, to my belief, is that is takes a true man to hurt her. And you and I both know, Julian Sark is not capable of hurting a Derevko. Or a Bristow for that matter."

Vaughn allowed himself a little smile. Although he hated to admit it, Jack certainly knew how to put the right spin on things to make them perfectly comforting.

**Tuscany**

Sark gratefully accepted the glass of full-bodied merlot Antonio Manna handed him and settled back into his plush arm chair. They were settled comfortably in Antonio's study and the dark Tuscan night sky eased Sark's mind with its beauty. He could still hardly believe he had flown from Austria to Italy to talk with the only true father figure he had ever had. Sark had never been one to ask advice, but even he could admit that he was out at sea in the case of Sydney Bristow. For this one opportunity, he knew he had to put aside his lone wolf persona and ask for help.

Antonio settled in a chair facing Sark and drank deeply from his goblet. "So, Julian, here you are, and clearly you are greatly troubled by something," he announced briskly. "You are not one of those who lets his emotions play on his face, but you look as though something has tormented you out of your cold façade. And that is surely a matter for no little alarm."

Sark nodded his mute agreement, suddenly unsure as to how he might begin. "I have come to you…for…advice, Antonio," he admitted. "You know my relationship with my father was never good."

"I believe the word some use is dysfunctional," Antonio pointed out dryly.

"He was a bad man," Sark immediately leapt into defensive mode.

"And you are not?" Antonio asked bluntly. "Are we not all bad men in the end?"

"I don't want to be a bad man any more," Sark announced, wincing when he realized his voice verged on a whine.

Antonio appeared taken back and openly peered at the younger man. "Oh no," he suddenly moaned. "Oh no. It cannot be."

"What?" Sark asked, alarmed. "What 'cannot be?'"

"I never thought I would see this day come," Antonio marvelled, and Sark could see he now look amused more than anything else.

"Could I inquire to what day you are referring to?" Sark asked testily.

"Julian Lazaery is in love!" Antonio announced, accompanied by a great bellow of a laugh.

"In love?" spluttered Sark, choking on his wine. "I am most certainly not." Antonio fixed him with a blank stare and he took another sip of wine, to wet his suddenly dry throat. "Well…perhaps…greatly attracted to a certain individual."

"That is more like it," Antonio said in approval. "Might I inquire to the identity of the lady? Do I have the pleasure of her acquaintance?"

Sark paused. "Well…you haven't been officially introduced," he answered. "But you've seen her."

"Details, my boy," Antonio prodded. "I was never any good at riddles. She must be batting for the wrong team, yes? Perhaps M16? Or not in the business at all?"

"She's been in your house," Sark said, lowering his head.

As expected, Antonio let out a great guffaw. "Agent Sydney Anne Bristow!" he roared. "You're in love with Sydney Bristow?"

"Shut up!" hissed Sark. "I'm not in love with her! I'm just having…certain feelings…that I shouldn't be having."

"Just one moment…is she still in your custody?" Antonio inquired, calming his mirth.

"Sometimes I feel more like I'm in her custody," Sark grumbled, slouching down in his chair.

"She gets that from her mother," Antonio said confidently. "When dealing with a Derevko woman it is important to remember three things. One, they are all perfectly capable of taking care of themselves. Two, they are the easiest creatures to fall in love with. And three, they are all barking mad!"

Sark caught a certain tone in his old friend's voice that caused him to raise an eyebrow. "Which one got to you?"

Antonio laughed. "Katya…and Ilena," he admitted. "I once thought I'd try my hand with Irina, but that was after she had been married to Jack Bristow. The woman was practically celibate after that. I'm almost tempted to say Bristow tamed her to a certain extent."

"So, they are tameable?" Sark asked, hopefully. "I mean, they can eventually be made to love one man and settle down?"

"Oh, yes…if you consider faking your death and running back to open your own terrorist organization until a psuedo name tamed," smirked Antonio. "But these are women, Julian, not dogs. You can't tame them to stay, they have to want to. Does that help at all?"

"Not one iota," Sark said honestly, feeling possibly even worse than he had upon arrival. "I suppose I'll just get some shut eye and head back to London in the morning." He drained his wine glass and stood up, stretching.

He headed to the door, but Antonio stopped him. "I can tell you one thing though," he said abruptly. "Holding a Derevko hostage and _forcing_ her to stay, is probably not the best thing you could do."

Sark allowed himself a wry grin. "Why do you think I'm going home?"

* * *

_Sydney panted heavily as she landed heavily from a leap over a rotten tree. The dark forests of Austria were hardly suitable for a midnight chase, but beggars couldn't be choosers. She knew as soon as she reached the other end of the brush, the CIA would have an extraction team waiting for her. It could be more than two minutes of straight running from here. She carried on, once more getting into her zone. The sound of her heavy breathing pounded angrily in her ears, the only sound in the dead of night. Until, that was, a British voice called out her name. "Agent Bristow, fancy meeting you here," came a voice she knew all too well._

_Sydney turned to her left to face her lover with a smile. Julian Sark was sitting patiently on an overturned tree. He rose as she turned and smirked. His blonde hair was slightly tousled and he wore black fatigues. In his right hand, he carelessly held a black glock. "What the hell are you doing here, Julian?" she laughed, secretly pleased to see him. "Aren't you supposed to be waiting for me in New Zealand?"_

_Sark paused for a moment. "Waiting for you in New Zealand?" he repeated. "What are you on about, Agent Bristow?"_

"_Very funny," Sydney grinned, leaning into him and kissing him on the lips._

_He staggered back, a bewildered expression on his face. He peered at her for a moment and then let out a laugh. "You must have received quite a blow to the head, Agent Bristow," he observed. "I am most certainly not your precious Agent Vaughn."_

"_Vaughn?" laughed Sydney. "I haven't thought about Vaughn in that way for years! Will you cut the act? We've been living together for five years, Sark."_

"_I don't know what exactly is wrong with you, Bristow," Sark admitted. "But it makes my job a lot easier." Before Sydney could fully understand what he was saying, Sark brought the glock smashing down on her head. She collapsed to the ground, clinging desperately to consciousness. _

_Sark stood over her, no trace of remorse or pity on his face. She tried to form some sort of plea or a cry of 'why?' but her lips wouldn't work. "You should know by now, Agent Bristow, I could never live with you. For one, I don't think our employers would be pleased in the least. For two, I like my women blonde."_

_He brought the gun up and aimed at her face, pulling the trigger without another word…_

Sydney bolted up in bed, sweating from the exertion of the nightmare. She was crying unashamedly, the cold face of Sark still haunting her. When she had fully assured herself she was safe in London, rather than dying in the forests of Austria, she lay back down again, trying to cease the flow of tears. Nightmares and pleasant dreams of Sark had been the only thing to disturb her sleep for the almost two weeks since she had last seen him. Her lips still unexplainably burned with the force of their kiss. Every time she recalled that last, disastrous night together, her heart almost broke. She couldn't tell if it was guilt over the kiss or remorse at leaving him. The one thing she was sure of was the fact that she seemed unable to think of anyone else, no matter how hard she tried. Even thoughts of Vaughn and her father were shattered by the memory of Sark's intriguing blue eyes.

Knowing she would achieve no more sleep that night, Sydney kicked off the covers, deciding a shower might calm her nerves. As the hot water beat down on her, she realized the shower might calm her physical anguish, but nothing could stop her thoughts. And her thoughts were certainly racing that morning. She tried desperately to miss Vaughn, and in some ways she did. But she was becoming sickeningly aware of the fact that it was not the way one missed a lover. It was the same way she missed seeing Eric or Dixon. Without fully realizing it, Sydney accepted the fact that she and Vaughn were no longer the happy couple they had once been, but just dearest friends who were confusing that friendship for a deeper relationship.

Sydney stepped out of the shower and wrapt herself in a towel. Unwillingly to quite face another morning sun without Sark in the home, she stayed locked in the bathroom, blow drying her hair. She had to wipe off the mirror, which had fogged up after the steam of the shower had flooded the room. The condensation clung to her fingers, cooling the skin that had heated from the steaming water.

She wasn't looking as good as she would have liked. Her sleep was really more plagued by nightmares and her awaking was spent worrying about what Sark was doing. There were violet shadows under her warm brown eyes and she knew she was slightly on the thin side. But food just didn't taste as good without Sark. She groaned, and repositioned the hair dryer over her brown roots, which were beginning to show through the disgusting platinum. She was slightly relieved by that, though she didn't relish the thought of seeing Sark again looking like some sort of reversed skunk. She wasn't quite ready to return to being a brunette though. Part of her could still pretend that it was Julia Thorne falling for Sark, certainly not Sydney Bristow. Sydney was too intelligent for that. Besides Sark had made it clear he liked women blonde.

She growled, angry with herself for even thinking of altering her appearance for a man's approval. She abandoned her hair, which was mostly dry by now anyways, and headed back to her bedroom. While she was in the bathroom, Nancy had entered the room and was setting up breakfast. Sydney caught sight of herself in her bedroom mirror and winced at the perfect unattractiveness of her hair.

"Morning, Nancy," she greeted, joining her in the sitting room after throwing a housecoat on.

"Good morning, Julia," Nancy greeted. Sydney hid a smile. The household staff still knew her by her alias, which really worked well with her Julia falling for Sark, not Sydney theory.

Sydney paused before asking her next question, still dealing with her feminist roots. "Nancy…could you possibly do me a favour?"

"Of course, miss, what do you need?" Nancy said amiably.

"I need you to pick me up some hair dye," Sydney announced with an undisguised grimace.


	7. Giving into the Inevitable

**Disclaimer: **Alias belongs to JJ Abrams, ABC and the people at Bad Robot

**Rating: **PG-13, for language and sexual themes in future chapters

**Pairing:** Sydney/Sark, suggested Sydney/Vaughn and Sark/Lauren

**Summary:** When Sydney makes the fatal mistake of trusting Sark with a gun in _Man of His Word, _Season 4, Sark takes the opportunity to revenge himself on Vaughn for Lauren's murder. However, after spending a prolonged time together, Sark and Sydney begin to develop feelings that neither of them anticipated.

**Author's Note: **An AU version of the events in _Man of His Word_. What might have happened had Sydney trusted Sark with a gun during the fight with Anna at the club.

My God! Where have I been? Unfortunately, I don't have any solid excuses. For whatever reason, my poor little story got put on the backburner there for a while. Hopefully you haven't forgotten us.

Just a mini rant before we begin. My story '_My Immortal'_ which was a Lord of the Rings songfic between Aragorn and Arwen was removed for violating the guidelines. I know for a fact it didn't do any such thing, unless songfics are no longer allowed. If anyone could give me a head's up to what went wrong, it would be mostly appreciated. I rather liked that little story.

**Chapter:** 7/14

* * *

**Chapter 7- Giving into the Inevitable**

**London **

Sark did not recognize the warm feeling that washed over him as the gates swung open to his manor home. The noon sun was high in the air making the grounds look bright, cheerful and downright welcoming. Something told him the weather had absolutely nothing to do with the excitement he felt upon returning home.

All his life it had been traveling that had excited Sark, certainly not the feeling of sleeping in his own bed. The spy was no longer afraid to admit to himself that it was the presence of a certain CIA agent that was the true reason for this feeling stirring in his stomach. He had made a significant decision on his plane ride home to England. Causing Vaughn pain was no longer his main incentive, though it was certainly an added benefit. He had finally realized that for a while now, his main goal had been wooing Sydney to keep her with him. The car pulled up to the front doors, and Sark pushed the door open before Devon could reach it.

He trotted quickly up the steps to the mansion and pushed open the door eagerly. Upon entrance he felt as though he had already had a full night's sleep. Any worries he had been entertaining over the Guild flitted away and he was not even aware they were gone. For the first time in his life, Sark realized what he had been missing by forswearing any real commitment with women. He could almost laugh at himself for thinking he had loved Lauren. The blonde double agent had merely been a pleasurable sexual and business companion. It was nothing like this constant ache he felt when Sydney was not by his side and the way he felt better just knowing they were in the same house. He had fallen hard and he couldn't be happier about it. This was the sick to your stomach missing her, driving away from her and crying because you've left her behind kind of feeling.

"Welcome home, sir," Lawrence greeted cordially. "You have been greatly missed."

"Thank you," Sark said shortly. "Tell me, Lawrence, where might I find Julia?"

"I'm right here," came the voice of Sydney from where she stood, half way down the hall stairs. Sark whipped around and felt his mouth drop a little. In his absence, Sydney had dyed her hair. It was no longer the cheap platinum blonde, but nor had she returned to her dark roots. She had settled on a caramel blonde that suited her as well as the brown ever had. She was dressed simply in blue capris and a white blazer over a grey tank top. There was an uncertain smile on her face, which he supposed was brought on by his obvious shock over her new look.

Seeing her, he was washed over with feelings of self-consciousness he hadn't been prepared for. He remembered vividly the sight of her running from him and the anger in him as he had overturned the table. Their last parting had hardly been one of happiness. He swallowed hard and allowed himself to drink her in. "You dyed your hair," he finally said blankly.

She bit her bottom lip and lowered her eyes, clearly disappointed. "I…hope you don't mind," she said quickly. "I hated that platinum colour…but I figured caramel was close enough to blonde for you. I know you…"

"…like my women blonde," he finished her sentence, half-aware of Lawrence leaving them alone. He wished he could take those words delivered in frustration back. He liked his women whatever way Sydney was looking that moment. He never wanted her to think she had to change to be good enough for him. He climbed the stairs to Sydney and haltingly embraced her. "When I said that…I was just trying to annoy you. Nevertheless, I think you look very good."

"Only very good?" Sydney asked, a little twinkle in her eyes.

"And by very good, I mean breathtaking," he allowed. Conversation died between them as they both took the other in. Sark hadn't realized until that moment exactly how much he had missed every bit of Sydney…the way she smelled, the way she sometimes stuffed her hand into her front pockets and the way she tucked her stray strands of hair behind her ears.

"I'm sorry," she rushed into the silence. "I was such an idiot. I missed you a lot while you were gone and I made you lunch."

He blinked, a little taken back by her quick list of announcements. "I'm the one who should be sorry, Syd," he argued. "All you did was be loyal to your boyfriend. I couldn't expect you to do anything less."

Sydney gave him a sad smile that almost broke his heart. "Could you honestly…still feel the same way about me if I was disloyal to Vaughn?"

"You'll think I'm a horrible person, but I think that I could," he answered honestly. Even sharing Sydney would be better than not having her at all.

Sydney laughed a little and then blushed when she met his heated gaze. They stood together for a moment, unconsciously moving closer together. Sark finally broke the moment, jolting back and giving her a rouge grin. "What was that you said about lunch? I'm famished."

Sydney returned his grin and grabbed his hand, leading him down the stairs and into the kitchen. "I made pizza. Lawrence told us you were on your way so I decided I'd give you a little treat."

"You couldn't give me a better treat than meet me at the door," Sark teased.

"You're so charming," Sydney drawled, but there was a look in her eyes that said he had touched her on some level. She dropped his hand and sauntered over to the oven. "Looks like its ready," she announced, pulling on a pair of oven mitts left on the counter. Sark took up a place on one of the stools at the island and indulged himself by watching her make her way about the kitchen. In his absence, she had acquainted herself with the kitchen. She set out two placemats, two plates and two glasses. She produced a bottle of Pepsi and then served up the pizza. She wouldn't join him until the minimal mess was cleared away and he refused to eat until she was sitting down. The pizza was a little cold by the time they finally dug in, but Sark could still appreciate its delicious taste.

"My little spy is also quite the housewife," he observed. "I suppose I'll have to keep you for the pizza."

"Oh, thanks," Sydney laughed around a mouthful of cheese. "You really know how to make a girl feel wanted."

"But of course," Sark laughed. He reached over to brush the corner of her mouth. "You have some cheese, love." Even the minimal contact between them seemed electric. Sark hastily withdrew his hand and focused on another slice of pizza. They ate in silence, chewing on the homemade pizza.

"I cannot believe you made this," Sark marvelled finally. "You're a wonder. By night you kick my ass and by day you cook up Italian marvels."

Sydney shrugged. "Cooking keeps life normal for me," she reasoned. "I won't always be a spy. Sometime in the future I'd like to start a family…maybe become a house wife."

"With Vaughn?" Sark couldn't help adding sarcastically.

"No," Sydney answered shortly. "I can't fool myself that much. I must accept that I will never have the easy life."

Sark felt instantly guilty over saying anything and vowed to never again mention the agent's name. "You're not a bad person," he comforted her.

"I'm not a good one either," she snapped. She hopped off her stool and crumpled up her napkin, preparing to toss it out. Sark hastily followed her, not wanting a quarrel to dampen their happy reunion.

"Syd…come here…" He stopped dead when she opened the garbage to reveal a flatten down Delisio pizza box. "Is that what I think it is?" he asked flatly.

Sydney bit her lip, clearly hiding a guilty grin. "Maybe," she giggled.

"You know, I actually had this lovely image of you in my kitchen wearing an apron and making me and the children all sorts of lovely treats…only to find you are a fraud, Sydney Bristow!"

Sydney laughed out loud. "You and the children, huh?"

"Yes," Sark nodded with a smirk. "But you've ruined my daydream."

"Well, I'm very sorry," teased Sydney.

"You'd better be!" Sark said hotly. He caught her off guard and swept her up into his arms, tickling her. She was overcome by giggles and was soon squirming so much he had to put her down. They staggered into the counter, their faces a mere fraction apart.

"I guess that means you won't be able to keep me," Sydney said breathily.

"God damn it, Sydney," he whispered, captured by their closeness. "I'd keep you if all you could do was sit and look."

"Well…that's encouraging," she said, dimly.

"It was meant to be," he said quickly. Before she could move, he dipped his head and kissed her. He realized he was pushing her far too quickly and drew back. He withdrew his arms from around her, feeling the heat rise to her face. "Shit…I'm sorry, Syd…I know you want to stay faithful to Vaughn…I just can't help myself around you…"

"Screw Vaughn," Sydney said, very uncharacteristically. She grabbed his face and brought his lips back to hers. Sark's last conscious thought during their make out session was that he may have just died and somehow been let into heaven despite his numerous sins.

* * *

About half an hour later, Sark found himself curled up on his couch with Sydney Bristow in his arms. He had been surprised by the amount of restraint he had shown while Sydney threw herself at him time and again. He had accepted her advances more than readily, but had managed to keep a hold of himself, if just barely. He had fallen hard for Sydney, but he was determined they not go any further than kissing until she was fully ready and sure of herself. He had to keep reminding himself that she was far from home and knew no one but himself. These feelings could just be her loneliness and boredom speaking.

He couldn't deny, however, that the sight of Sydney dozing on his chest was one of the best he had seen in quite some time. Even as he watched her, the deep brown eyes he had lost himself in numerous times over the past thirty minutes slowly opened and a slow, seductive smile spread across her lips. "Hey," she said.

"Hello," he smiled. He brushed his finger across her face, revelling in his newfound permission to touch her whenever he wanted. He bent and pressed a soft kiss to her neck, just because he could.

She grinned and stretched languidly. "So now what, Mr. Sark?" she asked, laying back down.

"Whatever you want," Sark said truthfully enough.

"What I seem to want is to cheat on the man who has proved he loved me time and again with the man who has proved he could kill me time and again," Sydney observed. Sark could see the deep guilt flooding into her eyes, threatening to spoil their perfect afternoon. He determined that just this once he could afford to be selfish about those doubts. Vaughn wasn't right for Sydney, and he felt he himself was. And damn any social conventions.

"We could dwell on that little detail," he acknowledged. "Or I could take you shopping."

He sat up, bringing Sydney up with him. "Sark," she laughed. "You know we can't go shopping. I might be seen with you…they'll know where we are. They could come after you…after both of us if I look more than a little willing to be in your company."

"And so what if they do?" Sark shrugged, unable to feel any concern. "I've been on the run from the CIA since I was sixteen. They've yet to build a prison that can hold me. Do you think one little shopping trip with my new girlfriend is going to change that?"

"Your new girlfriend who just happens to be a high ranking CIA field officer," Sydney reminded him.

He leaned towards her and kissed her on the lips. "Frankly, my darling, I don't give a damn." He pulled her to her feet and then swept her up in to his arms.

She laughed a little and then wrapt her arms around his neck. "Sark, we can't! We'll be caught for sure."

"Certainly if you have that attitude!" he agreed. "Come on…I want to buy you things. I want to shout to all of London that Sydney Bristow allows me to kiss her whenever the hell I want."

"You are so ridiculously cheesy, you know that, right? " Sydney observed as he kicked the living room door open. Lawrence was in the front hall and when he saw them, his mouth turned up into a little half smile.

"Lawrence, ring for the car, will you?" Sark asked, putting on a very haughty British accent wholly different from his own Irish lilt. "The lady and I are going into London to do a bit of shopping."

"Yes, sir," agreed Lawrence, not even bothering to hide his grin at his master's obvious glee.

Sark made his way to the stairs, still carrying Sydney. "Where are you going?" she demanded. "You are not carrying me up those stairs! Sark!"

Their laughter rang through the once cold and empty manor that had not known laughter for many of its long days.

* * *

The sun was beginning to set when Sark and Sydney started thinking about possibly heading somewhere for dinner. The afternoon had been happily whiled away walking up and down the streets of London popping into whatever store happened to attract them. As usual, Sark had spent quite freely, buying Sydney almost anything she showed interest in, despite her many protests. They finally halted besides a street vendor that was selling Indian jewellery. Sydney browsed the display shelves, sipping on her ice cappuccino. Sark watched her as intently as she looked at the jewellery and happily carried their bags. "Julian, look at this one," she almost gushed, fingering an elegant topaz chain.

Sark felt a grin creep on to his lips. "Julian?" he repeated, perusing the chain.

"Well, I can't keep calling you Sark," Sydney reasoned, kissing his turned cheek. He put the necklace down and kissed her full on the lips, heedless of the passer bys making 'tuhs' in their ears. It wasn't until the street vendor cleared her throat that Sark broke the kiss, pleased to find Sydney blushing. "You're making me act like a teenager," she protested weakly.

He cheerfully kissed her cheek, ignoring the merchant. "I can't help myself." Sark tore his eyes away to shoot the woman behind the displays a charming grin. "We'll take this one and the matching bracelet." The spending seemed to mollify the vendor somewhat and both parties went away quite happy.

Sydney slipped her spare hand into one of Sark's as they made their way up the street. Sark grinned. "What if the CIA sees us?" he teased.

"We've been making out all over London," Sydney shrugged. "It's a little late for concern."

"I think I've been a bad influence on you, Miss. Bristow," Sark shook his head.

"Tell me about it," Sydney laughed. "Somewhere between Club Vorda and London, England risking my life for an afternoon in public with you became perfectly acceptable."

"That's my girl," Sark grinned. He paused, savouring the words on his tongue. "I rather liked the sound of that."

"Me too," admitted Sydney. The conversation was interrupted by the growling of Sark's stomach. Sydney laughed loudly. "I think we'd better get some food into you."

Sark looked around and spotted a small but classy sushi bar he had visited several times during his previously brief stays in London. "How do you feel about sushi?"

"Sounds good," confirmed Sydney. Sark pulled her across the street, dodging traffic with the recklessness he showed in the field and cherishing the sound of Sydney's frightened giggles. Neither was aware of the man standing at the other end of the intersection with a small digital camera focused on their shenanigans.

They entered the restaurant. It greatly resembled the décor in Sark's pool room. There were tables in the restaurant, private booths and stools at the bar so customers could see how sushi was made. Having both undergone that treat several times, Sark and Sydney opted for a private booth- perhaps both realizing they may have flaunted themselves a little too readily.

The kimono-attired waitress left them after providing an appetizer of a green soup. "This place is beautiful," Sydney observed, still taking in her surroundings. Sark tugged the curtain completely closed to ensure their privacy.

"Its one of my favourite restaurants," Sark told her, settling back down in his seat. "This and El Café Cabana in Havana."

"I've never been to Havana…at least, not as a vacation spot," Sydney admitted. "I was there a couple of times for missions and what not."

"We'll go sometime," Sark promised. "I always try to conduct business there. It's very strategic. Loud music, plenty of dancing…and the food is great."

"Always a plus," Sydney agreed, absently browsing the menu.

"What's your favourite restaurant?" he inquired, eager to know anything about her he could.

"It was actually a restaurant my friend had in LA," Sydney answered and he noticed the immediate chilliness in her tone. He mentally kicked himself. Francie.

"I'm sorry," he said quickly. He held back a groan. He was beginning to be afraid most of their time together would be spent apologizing.

"I thought we agreed that if we spent our time together apologizing we'd never get anything done," Sydney observed, reverting to a lighter tone.

"Right," Sark nodded. The waitress re-entered their booth and they ordered a variety of dishes. The conversation had barely got started again before she returned with their meal.

"Excellent service," Sydney observed, flipping her chopsticks into hand. She selected a morsel of sushi and dipped it into the wasabi sauce. She popped it into her mouth and chewed it for a bit before swallowing. "And excellent food."

"What can I say?" Sark shrugged. "I've got excellent taste."

"Of course you do," grinned Sydney. "I'm your dinner date."

Sark laughed and kissed her over the table. He settled back into his seat, a slow grin on his face. "You taste like fish," she observed.

"So do you," he snorted.

"I don't mind," Sydney assured him.

"I'm relieved."

"You should be," Sydney retorted, never missing a beat. Sark began eating sushi. It was delicious. So much so that it took him a while to realize he was the only one eating. Sydney was sitting back in her seat, hands in her lap and tears welling up in her eyes.

"Syd, what's wrong?" he asked, alarmed. He got up and slid into her bench.

"I…I can't do this," she sobbed. "I can't do this to Vaughn. He's been so good to me and I'm cheating on him."

"You said yourself there is nothing there anymore," Sark protested, unwilling to lose the hint of happiness he had been given that day.

"That doesn't make this right…not in the least!" Sydney protested.

Sark gently kissed her forehead, realizing pressuring her would do no good. "Then you can go and break things off with him," he said honestly. "I'll be waiting when you get back."

His words shocked Sydney out of her tears. "You'd let me go?" she asked, astonished. "How could you trust I'd come back?"

"For one, you're you and you always keep your word," Sark answered. "But, more importantly, you and I have something here. Even if you're not consciously aware of it, you're emotionally aware of it. Eventually you'd come back."

"You have to stop being so nice," Sydney said, softly laughing through her tears. "I don't know how to deal with a nice Sark."

"You're not dealing with nice Sark," responded Sark. "For you, I'll always be Julian."

Sydney gave him a sad smile and let out a noise somewhere between a sob and a chuckle. She sunk into his chest and he happily curled his arm around her. "Does this mean you'll stay?" he asked, hardly daring to hope.

"For now," she agreed.

Sark sighed in relief and leaned back on the bench. "But I think I'm going to have to get seriously drunk this evening," Sydney announced.

Sark laughed aloud and kissed the top of her head. "Well, lucky for you, my darling, I've never believed a person should drink alone."

* * *

Sark glanced over to where Sydney was sprawled on her bed, a half-empty bottle of tequila clutched in her hand. He himself hadn't consumed nearly as much alcohol as she had and his head was positively spinning. Some old black and white movie was playing on the television in Sydney's room, but their brains had long passed the point where they were able to comprehend what was going on. Sark steadied his hands around a bottle of rum and proceeded to empty it into his throat. He lay back on the bed, perfectly content and completely piss drunk.

Sydney unsteadily got to her knees and tottered over to him. She overestimated the distance between them and ended up tripping over him. She giggled drunkenly and then righted herself. She straddled him and tossed the bottle on to the floor. She slowly lowered herself down, pressing hot, clumsy kisses to his neck. Her hands roamed around his body, acquainting themselves with the hard muscles. Still administering kisses, she began to unbutton his shirt. Her fingers shook and she ended up ripping the last few buttons. A grin spread across her face as she pushed the material off of him. Her head moved down and she trailed kisses along his chest.

Sark was quickly becoming aroused under her administrations. He tightly gripped her thighs and unconsciously began moving in rhythm with her. He eagerly sat up, trailing kisses along the back of her neck. The trail of her kisses made their way up to his pectorals. Upon reaching the nipple, she delivered a rather sharp nip. Sark let out a gasp, his head darting backwards and Sydney laughed out loud. "Sydney," Sark said warningly.

"Julian," she grinned, her tone meant to be seductive. She captured his lips in a kiss and he was immediately aware of exactly how much alcohol she had consumed. Her breath reeked of it. While Sark was trying to get his foggy mind to focus on anything besides the incredibly sexy, albeit drunk, woman on top of him, Sydney's liquor soaked brain was focused on one thing only. Her hands slipped down to the zipper of his jeans and were pulling on it desperately.

"No, no!" Sark protested. He gently pushed her off, laying her down on the bed. "We can't do that, Syd."

"Why not?" asked Sydney. "Don't you want to?" Tears welled up in her eyes and Sark had to resist laughing at her pathetic state.

"I want to very much," he acknowledged. "But not when we're both so drunk we'll forget how wonderful it was in the morning. I'm going to my room now and you're going to stay here, yes?"

"Jul-_ian!"_ whined Sydney, trying to push back up. He forcefully pushed her back on the bed, kissing the top of her forehead. He fumbled with the covers, manipulating them so she was underneath them. She was still fully clothed, but Sark suspected any undressing would lead to exactly what he was trying to prevent.

'_You are mad for leaving this room, absolutely stark-raving mad!'_ he berated himself. On any other girl, at any other time, Sark would have been quick to encourage any mention of sex. But he knew with Sydney the first time had to be perfect and they both had to be one hundred percent sure of themselves. "Goodnight, Syd," he said softly, opening the door.

"I hate you!" pouted Sydney, tossing on the bed. "You don't love me!"

Sark resisted the urge to roll his eyes. "I'll see you in the morning, sweetheart."

Sydney's reply was an indistinguishable grunt. Sark made his unsteady way to his room, brutally away of the hardness of his manhood. It was going to be an extremely long night.


	8. Invaded Havens

**Disclaimer: **Alias belongs to JJ Abrams, ABC and the people at Bad Robot

**Rating: **M, for coarse language and somewhat graphic content

**Pairing:** Sydney/Sark, suggested Sydney/Vaughn and Sark/Lauren

**Summary:** When Sydney makes the fatal mistake of trusting Sark with a gun in _Man of His Word, _Season 4, Sark takes the opportunity to revenge himself on Vaughn for Lauren's murder. However, after spending a prolonged time together, Sark and Sydney begin to develop feelings that neither of them anticipated.

**Author's Note: **An AU version of the events in _Man of His Word_. What might have happened had Sydney trusted Sark with a gun during the fight with Anna at the club.

I've decided to raise the rating of this story up a notch for a scene in this chapter…I'd appreciate if you guys could tell me if you think that's a good idea.

**Chapter:** 8/14

* * *

**Chapter 8- Invaded Havens**

Sydney tried to watch Sark inconspicuously as he played around with Lawrence's lab, Max in the back yard. She was laying down at the pool, wearing the bikini from Sark and fighting back a hang over still left over from last night. Sark had refused to tell her what she had said, leading her to believe she done something ridiculous. She was almost thankful she couldn't remember anything. Sark turned to look at her after throwing a ball for Max to go and fetch and caught her looking at him brazenly. She fought back a blush that only deepened at the wide grin he shot her. He blew her a kiss, but then had to turn back to amuse Max, who had begun bumping into his leg. Sydney laughed loudly as the lab brought the classy assassin to a hard thump on the ground. She rolled over to gaze dreamily up into the sky. Despite her outward languidly, her mind was racing at uncomfortable speeds to her headache. What the hell was she doing?

She tried to remember all of her promises to stay faithful. When making them, she had been determined to keep them. Vaughn deserved nothing but the best from her. She wasn't petty enough to try to form some sort of plan for revenge for his marrying Lauren when he thought she was dead. When they had re-entered their relationship, she had wanted nothing more than to get on with their lives together. She had thought they were soul mates and had truly thought she was settling down with the man she would spend the rest of her life with. Although she had admitted on some level that things weren't what they had been, she still felt a deep love for her old handler. But when Sark had suddenly crashed into her world in a whole new way, the relationship with Vaughn had become harder and harder to see as something long term. Maybe it was time to accept that she and Vaughn were no longer the power couple they had once been. But did that mean that she and Sark were? No, that was impossible. Even if it were, she was a horrible person for what she was doing. Holding hands and kissing Sark was committing adultery until she had officially broken things off with Vaughn. And wasn't she the one who had sworn to Vaughn that she would never be the 'other woman.' Sark didn't seem to have a problem with being the other man. This would be the second time that Vaughn had lost a woman to the cold British spy.

Sydney felt deep pangs of guilt in her stomach. She couldn't do this, not to Vaughn. He was so good and Sark was so completely opposite. This passion she felt for the spy was sure to fade eventually. What she had with Vaughn was true and tested. She had called him her soul mate. What kind of awful person threw away their soul mate for the man he despised beyond all others? That was it then, she would tell Sark immediately. She couldn't be in any sort of a relationship with him. She was going home to Vaughn. That afternoon if she had anything to do with it. After all they had been through, she knew Sark wouldn't stop her if she tried to leave.

"Good morning, sleepy head," Sark greeted, sauntering up to her. Max had run off to torment some unsuspecting squirrels and Sark had come up unheard through the gate. He sat down on the bottom of her chair and gently ran a finger up her bare calf. Sydney sat up quickly, pulling her leg away from him. Hurt flitted across Sark's face. "No need to be so friendly," he growled. "Perhaps you gave me the wrong impression last night."

Sydney bit her bottom lip, but was resolved to her course of action. "Don't be an idiot, Sark," she said coldly. "If any female ever gave you the indication of having sex with you, you'd be on her like Max on a bone."

"Back to Sark, are we?" Sark asked, his chill tones ripping at something inside of Sydney. She knew she had to hurt him, because if he even asked her to stay, she would. As long as he was angry enough that seeing her go made him happy, she would leave freely. "What happened to Julian, _Syd_?"

"You and I both know I was drunk when I was calling you that," Sydney said, standing up and pulling a towel around her scantily clad body. "I wasn't thinking properly."

"You weren't drunk all afternoon," Sark argued, following her. She continued walking away, but he caught up to her. Roughly grabbing her arm, he spun her around and kissed her roughly, with none of the gentleness of yesterday. Despite her best intentions, Sydney felt her knees weakening. Angrily, she pushed away.

"Get off of me," she said in a low voice. Her eyes locked with his, and beneath the anger, she could see the betrayal and hurt she was causing. It almost broke her heart, knowing the emotion and feeling that were behind the cold façade that she was slowly shredding. "And let me go. I'm going home."

"That wasn't the song you were singing last night," Sark said in an equally low voice. But he let her go and stalked away.

Unfortunately, those words caught Sydney's interest, and she felt a flutter of panic in her stomach. They hadn't slept together, had they? Surely she hadn't been so drunk to forget something that momentous? "What's that supposed to mean?" she demanded, following him. He ignored her. "Sark? Julian!" She laid a hand on his shoulder, and he whipped around, a thousand emotions playing on his face.

He grabbed the hand that had been on his shoulder and squeezed it so hard she thought he would shatter the bone. "So you're allowed to walk away, but I'm not?" he shouted. "Bit of a double standard, isn't it, love? But if you're so interested, I suppose I'll humour you. Last night you offered yourself to me…hell, threw yourself at me! But I stopped you, though God knows I wanted nothing more than to fuck you right there. I stopped it because I knew you wanted to remain faithful to your precious Vaughn!"

Sydney felt as though he had slapped her. "Julian…I…I'm sorry," she stammered. "I had no idea…"

"Save it, _Syd,_" he practically spat. "I don't need a woman who is going to sit here and play mind games. If you want to go home, then just go. But don't you dare come back to me when you realize you went back to a relationship that's already over!"

He started to walk away again, but Sydney called after him. "Look, I'm sorry!" she cried, her voice on the verge of tears. "I'm sorry I can't just accept this the way you can! Unlike you and Lauren, I feel guilty about things- I have some sort of conscience. I can't just be happy about betraying someone I loved. Vaughn wasn't just my lover, he was also my best friend."

"You don't think I have a conscience?" Sark almost screamed. "You don't think I lay awake at night and think of all of the people I killed? You don't think I don't hear the screams of the people in that church every time I dream? Do you know what its like to kill the man who taught you everything you know?"

"Then why did you kill him?" snarled Sydney, memories of exactly how distraught Sark had been after murdering Ichino.

"To protect you!" Sark exploded. Sydney found she had nothing to say to that statement. They stood in silence, both breathing heavily. For long minutes nothing happened. Finally Sark staggered forward, reaching for her. She allowed him to take her in his arms and he rained kisses on her forehead and cheeks. He pulled her back down on to the chair and she found herself curled in his lap. Sark began to talk, his voice occasionally breaking with emotion.

"I called Ichino to the house, because, frankly, I didn't know what to do with you. I thought he could help me. I'd never really been one to take prisoners, unless I needed them for interrogation. I had never planned to capture you, Sydney. I just knew I had to escape from the CIA and a part of me, even then, couldn't bear to see you come to harm. I didn't want to think what Anna would do to you if she caught you. I knew, somehow, Ichino would have the answer. I guess it was the little boy in me, who had always found some sort of answer in Ichino."

"But Ichino didn't have the answer I was looking for. He was furious with me. After I explained the situation, he could see only one option that would be safe for all of us. You would have to be terminated. I argued with him…something I had never even considered doing. He got tired of it quickly though, and resolved to kill you himself. I tried to stop him, but…he was so determined. I had no choice…I pulled out the gun…and…well…you know…"

He trailed off, two tears slipping down his pale cheeks. Sydney didn't know how to take the man she had always thought of being strong and untouchable suddenly so shaken and broken. She could sense there was some part of the story Sark had left out, but she knew she couldn't pry. She cupped his face and kissed away the tears, tasting their saltiness on her tongue. Sark lifted his eyes to meet hers and she gently pressed a kiss on his lips. He wasn't responsive, but his arms tightened around her waist. "Don't leave," he begged silently.

"I'm not going anywhere for now, Julian," she assured him, softly stroking his curls. She closed her eyes in resignation. She could not even pretend she wasn't overjoyed he had convinced her to stay.

* * *

"I've got a surprise for you," Sark announced a few days later while they were sitting on his balcony. Sydney was curled up on a chair, reading Harry Potter. He was sitting at an easel, painting a watercolour of something he wouldn't let her see. Painting was one of the arts Ichino had taught Sark, and for the past couple of days, Sark had been refining his old talents in one of the more peaceful arts he was taught as a child.

Sydney put the book down and crossed over to him. She rested her chin on the easel and regarded Sark solemnly. "What's the surprise?"

Sark quickly covered the painting, and then pulled her into his lap. "Well, I can't very well tell you, can I?" he asked. "It wouldn't be much of a surprise."

"It wouldn't by any chance have anything to do with dinner reservations you made a little while ago?" Sydney asked, mimicking his signature smirk.

Sark went a little slack jawed. "What…when…how did you know about that?"

"Please," Sydney rolled her eyes. "Do you think I got into the CIA on my looks alone?"

"I'd let you join the Guild for nothing more," Sark shrugged, nibbling on her neck.

"The what?" Sydney frowned, pulling away from him. "What's the Guild?"

"Nothing," Sark said, his eyes darting away from hers. "I put a dress in your room…I thought reservations at Delta's was appropriate."

Sydney's eyes bulged. She knew he had been planning a dinner of some sort, but she'd had no idea it was that big of a deal. Her father had taken her and her mother to dine at Delta's once while on vacation. Although she had only been seven at the time, she could still remember the perfectly outrageous prices, though looking back her father hadn't batted an eye. "You know, I'd be fine with just grabbing some Chinese take out food before going," Sydney reminded him.

"Oh, I know," Sark nodded. He stood up, but still didn't let her leave. He kissed her gently. "I, however, would not be. Some of us have class, love."

She gently swatted him, and received a pinch on the butt for her troubles. "Oh, yes, really classy, Julian." She blew him a kiss and then hurried inside, knowing they'd never make it out on time if one of them didn't make the conscious decision to leave the other.

* * *

As the manager of Delta's led Sark and Sydney through the famous restaurant to Sark's customary table, Sark happily felt the eyes that followed them. He knew they made an attractive couple. All worries seemed to have left him and he wanted nothing more than to take Sydney out and show her off. Sydney was dressed in a deep red dress that fell to her ankles and clung to her every curve. Her long brown hair was swept up into an elegant bun that Mrs. Beresford had done for her. The woman, who had apparently many talents Sark was unaware of, had left a few strands of hair down to artfully frame Sydney's face. The house keeper had taken care of Sydney's make up as well, leaving her looking more beautiful than Sark had ever imagined possible, which was certainly saying something. His own treat to Sydney, a diamond necklace that fell to lightly graze her minimal cleavage, sparkled in the candlelight. He knew he wasn't looking his worst either- dressed in a sharp black suit with a red shirt that matched Sydney's gown.

They sat down and, after Sark had ordered wine and dinner, sat back to take everything in. "I've only ever been here once before," Sydney informed him, glancing around. "My dad took mum and I while we were on vacation to London."

Sark raised an eyebrow. "Your father does very well for himself, CIA agent or no."

"By then he would have started working for SD-6," Sydney answered. "I think the payroll is slightly better when everything is illegal."

Sark shrugged. "I won't deny it. I do much better than you, though skill-wise we're even."

"Even?" Sydney said incredulously. "Please, Julian, I could kick your ass any day of the week."

Her statement drew the attention of several elderly patrons, but Sark couldn't be embarrassed to be in the presence of this woman. Besides, who didn't enjoy making a scene every now and then? The waiter came with wine, momentarily interrupting the conversation. Sark took the chance to look around while he poured. The Delta was everything he had remember- elegant and refined. All the surfaces were polished and shone with the lighting provided by the candles and one great chandelier over the dance floor. A few couples were waltzing close together to the accompaniment of several violins and cellos.

"We have a while until the meal arrives, Syd," Sark observed. "Will you dance with me?"

"I'd love to," Sydney grinned. Sark stood and took her hand, leading her on to the dance hall. They paused for a moment, and then joined in on the appropriate beat. One, two three. One, two, three. The slow beat was easy to follow and Sark found himself concentrating more on the woman in his arms. They seemed to fit perfectly together, his shoulder just high enough for her to comfortably rest her head on. He unconsciously ran his hand up and down her back, unable to fight back images of what could have happened the night she had offered herself to him.

He looked down at her face, resting peacefully against him. Her cleavage swelled with each easy breath she took, tempting him beyond belief. But even more arousing, was the way she was looking at him right now. Her brown eyes were shining as they reflected the candlelight and there was the sweetest smile playing on her lips. She took her hand from his shoulder and traced his cheek, pressing a kiss on his lips. A strange realization came to him. He would die for this woman. It was a feeling he had never felt before. The idea of putting someone before himself had never occurred to him. But if Sydney said the word, he would throw himself in front of her firing squad. His face must have showed his shock, for Sydney gave a little laugh. "What are you looking at, Julian?" she inquired.

"You," he said softly. "And I'm thinking about how perfectly beautiful you are."

"You look pretty good yourself," she teased.

Sark wouldn't be diverted into light banter, however. "I want this night to be perfect," he whispered into her ear.

Sydney paused momentarily before answering. "It already is."

But the perfection was slightly marred by an interruption during dessert. Sark was in the process of feeding Sydney her apple crisp with whipped cream, when a waiter brought Sark a telephone on a tray. "For you, sir," bowed the waiter.

He left the tray on the table. Sydney regarded it with a bemused expression on her face. "I didn't realize that actually happened," she observed.

"It doesn't," Sark said, angrily. "This is someone's idea of a joke." _Three guesses who,_ he thought bitterly to himself.

He lifted the receiver. "Sark," he said shortly.

"Good to hear your voice again, Julian," Sark wasn't surprised in the least to hear the icy voice of Tai Ichiniwa.

"What do you want?" he demanded sharply.

"You, of course," she laughed. "I thought I made that perfectly clear at our last meeting."

"I don't have time for games," Sark responded, brutally aware of Sydney's curious eyes on him.

"I do though," Tai laughed. "Tell me, how is darling Sydney? Not much of a prisoner, is she? Tell me, is she enjoying her whipped cream as much as you are enjoying feeding it to her? I must say, I overestimated her call of duty to her country. I don't even want to know what you did to make her forget Agent Vaughn."

Sark's eyes darted around, realizing Tai was in the restaurant with him. He finally spotted her at a table on the far side of the dance floor, talking into her cell phone. "What would you do if I shot her right now?" Tai asked.

"Kill you," Sark answered easily.

"What about our little coalition, Mr. Sark?"

"Screw the coalition," he said in a low, threatening tone.

"That's not a very nice way to treat the woman who rescued your eight hundred million dollars!"

"What do you want?" Sark almost shouted.

"Sark, who is it?" demanded Sydney. He waved her into silence.

"The Guild is meeting two days from now at my home in Tokyo," Tai informed him. "You're presence is expected."

"Well, don't hold your breath," Sark hissed. "I have other matters to attend to."

"Fucking a CIA agent doesn't count as business," Tai scolded him with a laugh. "I begin to seriously question your loyalty, Mr. Sark."

"Don't," he suggested. "Now, if you'll excuse me, I'm trying to eat dessert."

"So I see," Tai said dryly. "See you in two days, Mr. Sark."

Sark hung up in her ear. There was no way he was going to Tokyo. A generous pay check should be enough to mollify the Guild for his absence. He watched as Tai left the restaurant without paying her bill. "Hello? Julian?" Sydney said in a tone that suggested she'd been trying to get his attention for quite some time.

"What?" he snapped. Realizing he had been harsh, he took a deep breath and reached for her hand. "I'm sorry, Syd. You…that wasn't your fault. I just lost my temper."

"What the hell was that about?" she demanded. "Who was that? What coalition have you done something to?"

"You need to believe me when I tell you I can't tell you," Sark said softly as the waiter returned to retrieve the telephone and give them the bill.

"No, I don't!" Sydney argued, not bothering to keep her voice down. "I'm the one who is risking being named a traitor to her country for being seen with you, Sark. The least you can do is let me see a little of what goes on in your life that doesn't involve me. Maybe I could help you…because it did sound as though you need help."

"I don't need your help, love," Sark promised her. "I was taking care of myself long before I met you."

"What's going on?" Sydney persisted.

Sark laid out money and tip on the table and then crossed to Sydney, helping her stand. He wrapt his arms around her waist and gave her the most passionate, emotion-filled, desperate kiss he had ever given any woman. When he drew back he had expected to see her looking embarrassed or touched, instead she had a sad, knowing expression on her face. "When we first started to think Lauren might be a mole, my Dad gave Vaughn some advice. He said that when he used to ask my mum about her day, sometimes she'd distract him with a kiss. What he thought was an expression of spontaneous love, but looking back knew was just a way to get him to stop asking dangerous questions. And I can't help thinking that that's what that just was."

Sark held her gaze for a few minutes before dropping his eyes to look at their hands, clasped together. He was unable to look at the pain in her brown eyes. "I'm not going to lie to you, Sydney," he said. "There are going to be times when I won't be able to tell you what's going on. But I swear to you, I care for you too much to ever use you like your mother used your father."

"My mother cared about my father too. But she loved her work more than she could ever love Dad," Sydney shrugged. "I just…can't believe you, Sark."

"Don't call me that," he begged. "I hate that name."

"But its your name," Sydney frowned. "Its who you are."

"It doesn't have to be," Sark said fiercely. "Not anymore."

* * *

Sydney followed Sark up the stairs to her room in silence. He stopped outside her door and turned to face her. They had spoken very little on the way home and now the pregnant silence seemed to be smothering them. "So much for our perfect evening," Sark finally said bitterly. "I ruined that quite effectively."

Sydney didn't bother to correct him. She opened her bedroom door, not planning on saying goodnight. But suddenly she saw herself curled up alone in bed, knowing Sark was only a few floors away and just as lonely as she was. She hesitated and turned to face him. He was still handsome in his black suit and the red shirt that went so well with the blonde curls she had come to love. His blue eyes were looking at her despairingly, but when she turned there was a half-flicker of hope in them. "It's late…" she observed lamely.

"It is," Sark agreed, hope in his eyes dying. "I'll see you in the morning." He daringly came forward and kissed her gently on the forehead. Pushing any reservations away, Sydney pulled his head down and kissed his mouth.

His arms snaked around her waist and she clung to him, desperate to have him completely. They broke the kiss simultaneously, Sark breathing heavily. "Syd," he whispered.

"Don't leave," she begged. "Stay with me tonight."

He hesitated, watching her carefully. Then slowly, as though he was almost unsure, he followed her into the room. They left the lights off, the moonlight creeping in through the windows giving more than enough light. Sydney held his hand and led him into the bedroom. Her lips found his in the dark and the realization of what they were about to do hit them both at the same time. Sark easily lifted her up and carried her to the bed.

"Are you sure about this?" he inquired.

"Yes," she said firmly.

"Thank God," Sark breathed, trailing kisses down her neck and shoulders. He laid her down and straddled her, pulling her upper body up to him so he could unzipper her dress in back. He hesitated, as though unsure, his lips pressing on the skin just above her cleavage.

Sydney reached down and pulled his head to her, kissing him passionately. His mind resolved, Sark pushed her dress down. It came off easily enough, despite the way it clung. Sydney was left in her bra and underwear, her skin shadowed tantalizingly by the moon. Sark was surer of himself now, running his hands over her body and kissing every uncovered inch of it. "You are so beautiful," he breathed. "And you're mine."

His deft fingers easily undid her bra, exposing her breasts to him. His mouth became fascinated with them. His tongue flicking in and out around the nipples. With every moment under his ministrations, Sydney felt herself grow wet and the hardness of his arousal was become more and more apparent by the moment. Though she wanted nothing more than to let him continue, Sydney also wanted the chance to bring him a little pleasure.

She once more guided his head to her mouth and he was easily distracted. He kissed her again and again, hands bringing her hair out of its bun to fall about her bare shoulders. Meanwhile, Sydney pushed off his jacket. Her fingers clumsily unbuttoned his shirt and pushed it down off his shoulders as well. Although she had seen his chest several times, it was even more erotic now. She trailed kisses down it, tracing the many angry scars lightly with her tongue. Sark's breathing was becoming irregular under her touch, a thought that prided her greatly. When she first bit his own nipple, a gasp of pleasure was torn from him.

"You are so good, you know that?" he grinned, repeating words he had once used in the field.

Sydney moved suddenly and flipped him on his back. "Yes, I do," she teased. Her fingers ran down his chest until they reached his pants. Bringing her kisses lower and lower, she pulled the zipper off his pants and helped him out of his pants and underwear. Seeing him before her naked, she wanted him inside of her immediately, but she was still determined to have control over the situation. Her fingers ran up the inside of his calves, but before they could reach his manhood, he had flipped her again.

"Oh, no you don't," he scolded her. One hand cupped her breast, massaging it, while his lips drew kisses down her sculptured midriff to just above her own underwear. His spare hand found its way into the band of her underwear and he began to slowly work them down her legs. Feeling his hand so close to her vagina, Sydney relinquished control, figuring they had all night to pleasure each other.

"I like a man who takes control," she shrugged, knowing her eyes must be just as glazed as his.

"And I like you," Sark observed. "And you're mine."

"All yours," Sydney agreed breathily, feeling his hand creep up his inner thigh. She knew she was just about to experience the best sex of her life.

**Los Angeles**

Vaughn allowed Jack to lead him into a private room. When the older spy had approached his desk wearing a grim expression, Vaughn knew there was something horribly wrong. His mind had become to come up with its own conclusions. That somehow Jack's fail proof plan had gone wrong and Sydney was lost to them again. Or, even worse, Sark had actually done serious harm to Sydney, perhaps even killed her. But when he had questioned Jack, all the man would say was that they had found Sydney and that she appeared safe. "But there is…something you should see," Jack had finished off with. It was then Vaughn had noticed exactly weary Jack looked and the expression of confusion on his face.

Jack flicked on a wide screen television and handed Vaughn a remote. "Watch this. I'll give you some privacy. When you're through, I will be waiting for you outside."

"What the hell is going on?" Vaughn demanded. "Where's Syd, Jack? I want some answers!"

"All of the answers are on the tape, you little fool!" Jack exploded. The agent visibly took control of himself. "You'll understand when you see the footage. Just…watch it!" Jack exited the room, leaving Vaughn alone and confused. So he did the only logical thing. He obeyed Jack Bristow and pressed play.

The television flickered on to reveal a scene taking place on a street in what Vaughn thought must be London. The street was crowded, but the camera seemed to be focusing in on a young couple, both blondes, both with their backs facing the camera. They were browsing a street vendor selling jewellery of some type.

"_Julian, look at this one," gushed the woman._ Vaughn frowned. There was something too familiar about that voice.

"_Julian?" asked the man, amusement evident in his voice._

"_Well, I can't keep calling you Sark," the woman replied, kissing his cheek. _Vaughn leaned forward. Sark! Perhaps the conversation following would be about Sydney. _Sark grabbed the woman and kissed her passionately._ They were turned so that the woman would be facing the camera, if only Sark would stop sucking her face. When they finally broke apart, Vaughn felt his entire world come crashing down. It couldn't be. Impossible. It had to be a double. Nothing else made sense. There was no way Sark was kissing…_ "You're making me act like a teenager," Sydney protested weakly._

By the time Vaughn was able to focus on the tape again, Sydney and Sark were on the move. The man following them was having trouble keeping up, but Vaughn could still make out their conversation.

"_What if the CIA sees us?" Sark teased as Sydney grabbed his hand._

"_We've been making out all over London," Sydney shrugged. "It's a little late for concern."_

"_I think I've been a bad influence on you, Miss. Bristow," Sark shook his head._

"_Tell me about it," Sydney laughed. "Somewhere between Club Vorda and London, England risking my life for an afternoon in public with you became perfectly acceptable."_

"_That's my girl," Sark grinned. _

The footage ended and Vaughn was left staring at an empty screen. For the first time in his life he actually remotely understood how Sydney's world had come crashing down when he had told her he was married to another woman. He could finally understand what she had meant when she had said when she was ripped apart. But soon anger took over Vaughn's feeling of betrayal. Not anger at Sydney, though he admitted on some level she did not look altogether unwillingly, but at Sark. This time would be the last time. Next time he got a chance to fire at Sark, he wouldn't let CIA protocol stop him. He'd just kill the son of a bitch.

He stood up and left the dark room to find Jack, Weiss and Nadia waiting for him outside. Weiss and Nadia both looked as though they wanted to say something, but were at a loss for words. "Are they in London?" asked Vaughn coldly.

"Yes," Nadia answered timidly, not meeting his eyes. Vaughn wondered if she was embarrassed by her sister's infidelity. Another jolt of rage shot through Vaughn. When he had married Lauren, he had thought Sydney was dead. She had no such excuse.

"Do we have an address?" Jack nodded confirmation. "Then I suggest you get your things together," Vaughn announced. "I'm going after them." He only wished that he knew if he meant 'going to kill Sark' or 'going to get my Sydney back.'

**London**

"Sydney! Sydney, wake up!" Sark shook her awake, hating to disturb her peaceful slumber and wishing they could have been left to wake up together after their first night spent together.

Sydney's eyes opened quickly, her reflexes not at all dimmed by her time in 'captivity.' "Julian," she smiled, thinking he was only waking her to speak to her. She kissed him, and he felt all will to hurry drained out of him. Before he could control himself, they had both leaned back on to the bed. Let the CIA catch them, he thought lazily, at least he would have her one more time. That disturbing thought brought him back to his senses and he broke their kisses.

"Hmph," she pretended to pout.

"There is nothing I would rather do then spend the morning…hell, the entire day…in bed with you, Syd," he said quickly. "But if we do that, we may both find ourselves in the custody of the CIA. You for fraternizing with the enemy and me…well, me, for being said enemy."

Sydney pushed her blonde hair out of her eyes. "What are you talking about?"

"A contact of mine…Joshua Frou…just called with a tip. One of his contacts who plays for both sides was contracted to spy on us in London. They saw us shopping, Syd, and he gave the footage to your father," Sark explained quickly. "By now they'll know where we are and may already be on their way. I have to get out of here."

"Where will you go?" Sydney asked, her face openly torn.

"I can't tell you," Sark said, though he wished he could. "I can't be sure the CIA won't use certain tactics to get it out of you."

Sydney nodded briskly, her mind clearly spinning out a thousand scenarios. He couldn't help it, he cupped her face and kissed her again. She threw her arms around his neck and crushed him to her. "Its so unfair," she whispered into him.

"I know," Sark sighed. "But it's the risk we took." He untangled himself from her and began digging in her closet, bringing out the old white nightgown. "Get into this. I'll lock you in one of the spare, empty rooms. I know how well you can do this, baby. You can convince them the footage was false, or something you were forced into. I may have to…rough…you up a bit, but you'll be safe."

"But you'll be guilty of something else," Sydney said unhappily.

"A drop in the ocean," Sark shrugged. Sydney crossed to him, still naked, and kissed him.

"When will I see you again?" she asked.

He shrugged. "You'll probably be married to Vaughn and trying to kill me." He tried to say those words lightly, but he couldn't deny it just about killed him. "Get changed," he instructed. "We don't have much time." He pushed the nightgown into her hands

Sydney looked down at the white flannel, and back up at him. "I'm coming with you," she announced.

Sark was floored. "If you come with me, Syd, there'll be no going back," he warned. "They'll know you came on your own free will."

"There was no going back after last night," Sydney observed softly, her eyes on the bed- covers still tangled from their numerous love makings.

"You're coming?" Sark asked, still in disbelief.

Sydney grinned. "I'm coming."

Sark grabbed her and kissed her roughly. "You're amazing."

"And dirty," Sydney observed. "Do I have time to take a shower?"

"If it's a quick one," Sark replied after taking a look at his watch. "I'll pack for you." They kissed one last time before Sydney dashed into the bathroom. Sark began tossing Sydney's clothes into a suitcase. He was down before she was and, with a little time before the helicopter that was taking them to a private airport arrived, he sat down to wait. He took an envelope out of the breast pocket of his grey Armani suit that he had paired with a deep silk blue shirt.

Sydney had clearly made her decision about Vaughn, he reasoned. Sark had won out. But, despite that victory, it wasn't enough. He still wanted the man who had killed Lauren to feel the pain he had felt when he had seen her lying dead in a coffin in CIA possession. He took a pen out of his other pocket, contemplating what he was about to do. The water in the shower turned off and Sark hastily scrawled '_Agent Michael Vaughn'_ on the outside of the envelope. He told himself he was doing the right thing. Sydney had made her decision…nothing wrong with burning her bridges for her.

Sydney emerged from the bathroom, dressed in jeans and a light grey sweater, her wet hair pulled back in a messy bun. "You're beautiful," he declared, hiding the envelope behind his back.

"We'll make a funny couple," Sydney teased. "Me in Gap, you in Armani."

"Doesn't matter," Sark shrugged. Sydney grabbed the hand that didn't hold the envelope.

"You're right," she grinned, picking up her packed suitcase. "Let's get out of here."

"Couldn't have said it better," Sark agreed. She began dragging him out of the room, and he barely managed to lay the envelope on her dresser before they were running to the waiting helicopter and safety. As they ran across the back lawn, Sydney with a grin on her face, Sark suddenly wished he could be back in her room, ripping that envelope to shreds.


	9. Revelations

**Disclaimer: **Alias belongs to JJ Abrams, ABC and the people at Bad Robot

**Rating: **PG-13, for language and sexual themes in future chapters

**Pairing:** Sydney/Sark, suggested Sydney/Vaughn and Sark/Lauren

**Summary:** When Sydney makes the fatal mistake of trusting Sark with a gun in _Man of His Word, _Season 4, Sark takes the opportunity to revenge himself on Vaughn for Lauren's murder. However, after spending a prolonged time together, Sark and Sydney begin to develop feelings that neither of them anticipated.

**Author's Note: **An AU version of the events in _Man of His Word_. What might have happened had Sydney trusted Sark with a gun during the fight with Anna at the club.

Another ridiculously long waiting period between chapters. School has been insane, but the end is in sight and then I'll be able to sit down and put some serious thought and hopefully chapters into this beloved story.

**Chapter:** 9/14

* * *

**Chapter 9- Revelations **

**London**

Nadia had spent much of her life crying in the dark of the night. Cold, bitter nights in Argentina, curled up in an orphanage, weeping over the cruel hand life had dealt her. Over time, she had come to feel somewhat comforted by the enveloping darkness that hid her tear-streaked face. As the newly recruited member of the CIA, or more specifically APO, slipped quietly into a patch of bushes directly underneath a bay window outside of the private London residence of Mr. Julian Sark, she was grateful for her time spent in the night. She was just as easy conducting missions when she could barely see as she was in broad daylight. This was not the case for her current operations partner and boyfriend, Eric Weiss.

When she settled down next to him, he groped around for her hand. He shot her a rouge grin. "Thank God you're here," he whispered in her ear. "I can't see a goddamn thing."

"That means they can't see us either," Nadia reminded him.

"Who?" Eric grunted. "There's no one here. Mike and Jack are just being too bloody optimistic. Your sister and her new boyfriend aren't here."

Nadia said nothing. She was no longer quick to defend Sydney, but nor had she condemned her. Of all the agents at APO, Nadia could appreciate the draw of an attractive agent playing for the other team. She was torn between her sister and her new loyalty to her father, a man Sydney had betrayed, if this supposed relationship was not contrived. Biting her bottom lip, she could not help but wish just once more that they would enter the house to find Sydney prisoner and held against her will.

"Attention Houdini, Eagle, do you copy?" Even over the crackling coms, Nadia could hear the anger and bitterness oozing out of Vaughn's voice.

"Loud and clear, Boy Scout," Eric whispered, eager to not be overheard by any of the house's residents.

"Are you in position?"

"Affirmative."

"Stand by then," Vaughn cautioned. "We're waiting for Lone Wolf to get into position."

Lone Wolf was Jack's code name for the mission, classified as a retrieval of potential hostile. Nadia, who was going in as Eagle, thought the name perfectly suitable for the cold and occasionally arrogant agent who preferred his own company to that of any one else.

"Copy that," Eric replied. "Over."

"Over and out." Vaughn's less than friendly voice was gone, leaving Nadia and Eric to wait in the dead silence. Nadia leaned wearily against Eric, eager for the mission to be complete, or at least to begin in earnest.

"Do you really think Sydney would ever fall for Sark?" Eric asked, clearly trying to break the silence.

Nadia shrugged, but then realised Eric wouldn't be able to see her. "I'm not sure," she admitted. "I know she genuinely cares for Vaughn, and that before she went MIA, there were no fond feelings between them."

"On her part," Eric injected. "There was a committee formed to look into any interaction between Sydney and Sark the CIA was aware of. There were several notable occasions Sark spared her life when in other situations he would have killed."

"My sister is an attractive woman," Nadia reasoned. "And anything is possible."

"Apparently," Eric agreed dryly.

"Eagle, Houdini, ready," Vaughn came over the com again. Nadia shifted her body, pulling out her missile projector. This missile was no explosive, but a bungee rope that would allow Eric and herself to shimmy up to the top balcony of Sark's London estate. Jack would be entering the back door and Vaughn was going in at the front. There were agents hidden on the boundaries of the estate, ready to stop and detain anyone who tried to leave the premises. If Sydney and Sark were still here, they weren't going to escape. Nadia aimed the projector and pulled the trigger. The cord sailed up through the night and latched securely on the ornate balcony. Eric and Nadia waited with bated breath, sure a face would appear over the balcony's rim and begin firing on them in their vulnerable position. There was absolutely no noise and eventually Nadia breathed a sigh of relief, sure they remained undiscovered.

"Cord in place, Boy Scout," she hissed into her com. "We're ready to go."

"Move forward," Vaughn ordered. "We're moving in."

"Going radio silent until ascent complete," Nadia informed Vaughn.

Eric and Nadia latched on to the rope, exchanging nervous glances over it. "Well, I'll go first," volunteered the Argentinean, unable to wait any longer.

"Good luck," Eric nodded. "And be careful."

Nadia gave him what she hoped was a reassuring smile and began to climb the rope. It wasn't easy, and there were numerous occasions when she was grateful to the secure clamp that ensured she wouldn't tumble to the ground that was steadily falling behind her. By the time she had flung a leg over the edge of the balcony, there was sweat trickling down her back and her arms were aching. She pulled herself over and immediately whipped out her gun, surveying her surroundings, on the lookout for Sark or a guard. The balcony was larger than she had originally suspected with a table for two set up off to the right. Two glass doors led inside. She tried them and found them unlocked. She swung one open and slipped inside.

Inside was dark as well, but there was sufficient light for Nadia to make out her surroundings. She walked slowly, taking everything in and perfectly poised should anyone try to attack her. The top floor was smaller than the rest of the house and contained a bedroom, office and sitting room. The bedroom and sitting room contained nothing of interest. But in the office, Nadia found confirmation of Sark in the form of a picture that made her stomach turn. It was a glossy photo of Sydney and Sark sitting by a pool. Sark had his arm swung around Sydney and she didn't look the least unnerved by it. They were both wearing rather larger smiles than Nadia would have liked. She angrily shoved it into a drawer in Sark's desk, hopeful that Vaughn would overlook it.

Satisfied that the top floor was deserted, Nadia went back to the balcony and indicated to Eric that he should climb up now. The pudgy agent had a rather harder time of it than Nadia had, and was breathing very heavily by the time Nadia helped him over the railing. "I've really got to lose some weight," he panted, wiping sweat from his forehead. Nadia shot him an amused smile, before contacting Vaughn and informing him they were in the house and that the top floor was deserted.

"Damn. Lone Wolf is on the first floor, and I'm on the second. So far there isn't any sign of inhabitants."

"This floor seems to be Sark's personal quarters," Nadia told Vaughn. "Should I search his desk?"

"Yes," Vaughn decided. "I'm going to take a look around here. Wait for my call before descending to the third floor."

"Affirmative," Nadia agreed. Vaughn said nothing more, so she and Eric moved back inside.

"I'm going to take a look through Sark's desk," Nadia decided, risking the switching on of a light. "Do you want to look through his closets?"

"Sure," Eric agreed nonchalantly.

Nadia retreated to the office and began pulling out drawers. She checked for secret compartments and found none. She began to peruse the documents in Sark's desk. She bit her bottom lip. The Irish spy was clearly up to something serious. Long lists of off shore accounts and maps of known Covenant headquarters pointed towards his involvement with Tai Ichiniwa. There were also several mentions of the Guild, comments that made Nadia think Sark wasn't working for the Guild, but running it.

'_It looks as though I may just have found the Guild's front runner,'_ Nadia thought dryly.

"Has this man ever heard of the Gap?" Eric demanded from the adjourning room. "Its all Italian designers that would cost me a month's pay for an undershirt."

Nadia laughed, and then continued her search. Some of the more important pages she took snap shots of. Finally content that her search was thorough, Nadia replaced all of the documents, sure that they would all be confiscated in the official sweep of the mansion. She joined Eric in the bedroom and found him sitting on the bed holding a wrapt package and reading a small card. "What do you think of this?" he asked, holding the card out to Nadia.

She joined him on the bed and read the small folded piece of paper.

_To my American darling,_

_A small token of my appreciation and fondness. Because of you, my life has become a brighter place._

_Love, Julian_

"What's in the package?" Nadia asked, confused by the warm words. Since learning Sark and Sydney were somehow romantically involved, she had never even paused to consider Sark might have feelings for Sydney. She had just assumed somehow the Irish charm had pulled the wool over Sydney's usually clever eyes. "A bomb?"

"Should we open it?" Eric asked, uneasily.

"Why not?" Nadia frowned.

"Seems, I don't know…kind of personal," Eric admitted.

"It's a matter of national security, if that will put your morals to rest," Nadia reminded him dryly.

"Right," Eric nodded. But Nadia noticed he opened the packaging very delicately. It was a box from a designer in London Nadia knew made very expensive jewellery. Inside on blue plush velvet rested a silver lighthouse charm on a delicate silver chain. Where the light would have sat was instead a rather large diamond. Eric let out a large breath.

"So…that's absolutely beautiful," Nadia breathed. "Do you think it's for Sydney?"

"No," Eric said, voice dripping with sarcasm. "Its for the other American spy Sark's in the midst of seducing for his devious methods."

"Or maybe not so devious," Nadia frowned, fingering the necklace lightly.

"Don't let Vaughn hear you say that," Eric said. But there was a tone in his voice that Nadia knew meant she wasn't the only one suddenly having realizations of a possible mutual affection.

"Speaking of Vaughn," she realized. "Shouldn't we have heard from him by now?"

Eric nodded, then reached up to turn on his com. "Boy Scout? Lone Wolf? Do you copy?"

"Copy," came the sound of Jack. "We're still on floor two. I did recon on floor three. The house is deserted. Meet us on the second floor, the third door on your right after descending from floor three."

"Affirmative," Eric agreed.

Nadia turned on her own com. "Why weren't we contacted after the search was complete?"

There was silence for what seemed an eternity before Jack replied. "Boy Scout has made an emotional discovery. Report here, _now,_ Eagle. Houdini. Over and _out."_

Feet decidedly quickened by Jack's angry and impatient tone, Eric and Nadia hurried downstairs. The third floor was dark, but if Jack Bristow said it was deserted, Nadia could feel no unease. The second floor's hall, in contrast was well lit. The only room with a light on was the one that Nadia and Eric were looking for. It was more of a suite than a room with a living room, washroom and bedroom. All three rooms had been torn apart, and the frenzy with which the articles had been scattered around indicated it was in rage by Vaughn.

They found Jack and Vaughn sitting in silence. Jack was staring out the darkened window, an unreadable look on his face. Vaughn was much more revealing as to what the discovery might have been. He was sitting on the unmade bed, his face the perfect study of a man who had seen his entire life fall apart in front of him. He was glaring at a handful of photos in his hand, shifting through them frantically as though looking for an answer of some sort.

"What's up, man?" Eric asked, after exchanging a wary look with Nadia.

Vaughn made no answer. Hesitantly, Nadia went to sit beside him. She spotted an opened envelope on the bed with what she recognized as Sark's handwriting. It was clearly addressed to Agent Michael Vaughn. She pulled the photos out of Vaughn's grip. He held on tightly, but made no sign he even noticed they were gone when she managed to wrestle them away. The photos were all, as Nadia had suspected, stills from surveillance cameras. And they were all of Sark and Sydney. The happy couple making some sort of pasta, Sydney offering a spoonful to a smiling Sark. Sark pulling Sydney into an indoor pool. Sark and Sydney dancing on the balcony, Sydney meeting Sark's eyes with her glistening brown ones. As Nadia flipped through the many photos, she couldn't help but notice that, although Sark had undoubtedly planted the pictures, there was a personal weakness in them.

In every single photo, Sark was wearing a look of equal adoration to Sydney's, if not greater. Nadia knew there was a possibility Sark was acting, but somehow she just didn't think that was the case. Immersed in her thoughts, Nadia was even more shocked when she came to the last few photos. Naked pictures of Sark and Sydney in what could only be decently referred to as mid- intercourse. She let out a small cry and hastily handed the pictures to Eric, whose face instantly went red.

"That fucking bitch," Vaughn growled.

"Don't call her that," Nadia immediately stood up for her sister. Any thoughts of Sark being in love with Sydney immediately vanished. His plan was clear now. He was using Sydney as a way to get back at Vaughn for killing Lauren, a woman he had truly believed he loved. "She doesn't realize what she's doing."

"Yes, she does," Vaughn snarled. "She knows what it means to commit adultery. And she's not some rookie who doesn't realize when she's being seduced by the enemy."

"Unlike you and Jack, you mean?" Nadia shot back. Eric put his hands up, clearly wanting nothing to do with whatever argument might ensue.

Neither man said anything, however. Nadia felt like shaking them, and Eric too, just for good measure. They'd spent so much time building Sydney up as this perfect angel of protection, they'd forgotten she was human with human flaws and emotions. She felt an ache for her sister. She half-suspected her sister truly loved Sark. To find out about his betrayal would hurt almost as much as returning to find Vaughn married.

"So…" Eric broke the prolonged and awkward silence. "What happens now?"

"We find Sark and murder him slowly and painfully," Vaughn responded in a voice of cold steel.

"Oh…okay…well, that's positive," Eric gulped.

**Havana**

Sydney smiled happily over at Sark from her passenger seat of their rented burgundy Lexus. It wasn't exactly the most inconspicuous of cars, but it was a very Sark car. She reached over and brushed his cheek with her hand, unable to go without touching him. He smiled over at her, taking one hand of the wheel and cupping her face gently. "I can't believe you're actually here," he admitted.

"That makes two of us," Sydney grinned. He laughed a little, just for sheer happiness. Sydney couldn't believe how ecstatic he was that she was with him. She was having a little trouble accepting it herself. She was on the run from the CIA with the one man she would have only a few months ago killed with no regrets. And every time she looked at him she got the head rush and sick to her stomach feeling she hadn't felt since Noah Hicks. Sark had that bad boy charm concealing a sweet and touching side of him that made Sydney's head spin. An unfortunate flash back of kneeling beside a dying Noah caused Sydney to cut her musings short. Instead she reached for Sark's hand and brought it to her lips, kissing each of his knuckles individually.

"I'm glad you're here, Syd," he told her. "I just hope you won't regret it."

Pushing away disturbing images of Noah and guilty thoughts of Vaughn, Sydney offered Sark her biggest smile yet. "I won't."

"Good," Sark smiled. "Because we're home." He pulled into a dirt driveway that led to a red and beige house. It was no where near as large as the mansion in London, but Sydney immediately liked it better. Its terracotta Spanish style construction and trim reminded her warmly of the flat she had once shared with Francie and Will. Sark pulled the car to an easy stop and turned of the ignition. He vaulted over the car door and hurried around to open her side.

"Such a gentleman," she teased as he held out his hand. She accepted it though. It made getting out of the car in the beige skirt she had changed into a lot easier. She had paired the skirt with a green bohemian tank top. It wasn't like anything she would wear back in Los Angeles, but she seemed to be leaving that life far behind. Sark was dressed in a casual tan suit paired with a silk blue shirt. He looked just as in place in Havana as he had in London.

They gathered their suitcases from the trunk. Sark used his spare hand to hold Sydney's and then led her towards their new home. Sydney slipped her large dark sunglasses off as they entered the shade of their house, disguising a grin. She liked the sound of 'their home.'

Inside was cool and very classily decorated. There were no servants that Sydney could see, but the house felt more lived in than the London mansion had originally. "You spend a lot of time here, don't you?" Sydney guessed, as Sark closed the door behind them.

"Here and Austria," nodded Sark. "Is it obvious?"

"You're more comfortable here," she observed.

"That could be the company," Sark teased, capturing her lips in a playful kiss. He snatched her suitcase away from her and motioned for her to follow him up the stairs. They entered a large airy room. There was a dark wardrobe, two bedside tables, a duvet and a large bed. The covers on the duvet and bed were white, and very sheer curtains were hung around the bed. Sark heaved the suitcases on the bed and faced Sydney with a self conscious smile. "Do you like it?"

"It's beautiful," Sydney assured him, sitting down on the duvet. Sark crossed and pulled her up.

"I thought you'd say that," he grinned. "There's another room down the hall, but it's not nearly as nice as this one. I thought we'd be more comfortable in here with the balcony anyways."

"We?" repeated Sydney, raising her eyebrows.

"Well…" Sark's cheeks formed a faint blush. "I mean, that is…if you want to. If not, the other room is…really nice too. I can stay there, I mean. Without you."

"Oh, no!" Sydney laughed. "I just…thought you'd want your privacy."

"No…unless you do," Sark said quickly.

"You're staying here," Sydney said firmly.

"Are you sure?" Sark questioned.

"Yes," Sydney said in a voice that brooked no doubt. To make her statement all the more potent, she captured his lips in a rough kiss into which she put all of the passion and longing she had felt on the long plane ride, unable to make love to him. There had been several times when she was sure she was going to die if she didn't drag him into the airplane bathroom that instant.

His mind was clearly on the same thing as his hand slipped up the back of her tank top, possessively caressing the smooth skin on her back. She broke the kisses on his mouth and teased a line of kisses up his cheek to his ear. "I want you right now," she whispered, nipping his ear.

"Well," he said hoarsely. "It would be a shame to not make the bed really ours."

"Then we agree," she smirked. He captured her mouth again in a kiss more heated than the last. Before she knew what was happening, he lifted her up and laid her down on the bed, already sliding her skirt down her legs. She pushed his jacket from her shoulder and began to tear at the buttons on his expensive shirt. She finally relieved him of it as well, revealing the bare, muscled chest. She lightly bit down on his shoulder. He groaned, straddling her and forcing her down on to the mattress.

His hands traced lightly up and down her legs, moving ever closer to her clit. She arched her back in anticipation as he made first contact. But his finger darted back immediately, instead pulling her tank top up and kissing her exposed midriff. He slowly pulled the top off and unclipped her bra, throwing it abandoned on the floor. He began to kiss each breast in its turn, using his spare hand to massage the other. Sydney threw her head back, half-frustrated that he was again taking control, half withering in pure anticipation.

Sark's cock was pressing painfully out against his pants, and he was forced to stop to remove his pants. Sydney took the relapse as her chance to pleasure him. She pushed his hands back and removed the pants herself. When he was stripped as naked as she, she grinned up at him. His eyes widened as he saw her intention. Her long fingers moved dancing up his legs, her thumb coming to rest on the top of his manhood. She slowly traced it down and then, without any warning wrapt his length in her mouth. Sark let out a loud moan and braced himself against the bed. Sydney was gleeful at the immediate effect she had on him. Her tongue licked his cock lustily, while her hands played teasingly with his balls.

"Syd…" he groaned. "This can't go…much longer."

She continued for a few more moments, just to torture him, and then released him. She could see in his glazed eyes that he wanted nothing more than to feel her mouth around him again. But soon he was backing her up on the bed, his hands running up her legs. Each of his touches sent shivers up and down her spine and she knew she was wet and ready for his entry.

He cupped her face and kissed her once more before plunging into her. She let out a gasp, arching her back. He began to pump into her, and she wrapt her legs around his waist, matching his desperate rhythm. Just before they both came, their eyes met and Sydney's heart leapt to see the same love in his eyes that she knew was shining in hers. It was the first time she had ever toyed with the possibility of being in love with Sark, but she knew as soon as the thought came to her, that she was.

They collapsed, tangled up together, spent. Sark brushed gentle kisses from where his head lay on her shoulder. "Sydney," he said, somewhat hesitantly.

"Hmm?" she encouraged, casually twining strands of his blonde curls in her hair.

"We need to talk," he lifted his head, blue eyes suddenly unreadable.

She felt uncertainty spread in her as he rolled off of her. He didn't leave the bed though, and his hand reached for hers. He brought it to his lips and repeated her gesture from the car. "I'm ready to tell you everything."

"About what?" Sydney asked, sitting up and pulling a light blanket over her.

"About what I do. About the Guild…about everything I thought I couldn't tell you," Sark shrugged. "I've realized I have to tell you, even if you do go running back to the CIA and tell them everything. I want you to be a part of my life…a part of every aspect of my life."

Sydney mulled his words over in her head. A part of her wanted him to tell her every single minute detail of his life. But the other, more sensible part of her realized that what Sark was about to tell her was not necessarily going to be the most complimenting addition to his personality. She dearly wished to cover his mouth with a kiss and stop him from possibly revealing information that would make her regret fleeing from her friends and family. She saw in his ice blue eyes that were searching her face desperately that he needed very much to tell her what was on his mind. So, despite her own judgement, she offered him a soft smile. "You can tell me anything, Julian."

He laughed a little. "I promise I haven't killed anyone…recently."

"Oh, good." Sydney resisted rolling her eyes.

Sark shot her a very rogue grin before he began his story. "After escaping CIA custody and, simultaneously, kidnapping you, I realised I could no longer fall back on the protection of the Covenant. They were extremely weak and ready to fall if the CIA exerted even the most minimal effort. I did a bit of background tracing, and discovered that the bulk of the money they stole from me, was still being held. It would be the perfect way to get off the ground. Maybe even get out of this entire world."

"I knew I couldn't rob the Covenant by myself, so I contacted an old friend of the family's- the same man who had helped me rid myself of the CIA tracker. He gave me a few contacts and I used a few of my own. Finally, I was able to arrange a meeting between three substantial terrorists who were looking for a new base. That was the first time I left you for Innsbruck. I promised them each one hundred million dollars of my inheritance should they help me recover the money. We combined our resources, and created what is now being referred to as the Guild."

"Who were the three people you met with?" Sydney asked, wondering exactly how specific she could entice her new lover to be.

Sark sighed. "Joshua Frou, Igor Poladski and Tai Ichiniwa."

"Tai Ichiniwa?" Sydney felt a shock course through her. "Crazy Oriental ECR rebellion leader?"

"The very same," Sark admitted.

Sydney rolled on to her back to reveal a long white scar that stretched across her lower back. "That woman did this to me!" she growled. "Do you really want to be working with a woman like that?"

Sark grabbed her hand and brought it down to his knee, where the scar of an ice pick was still very prominent. "Well, I'm sleeping with one."

Sydney blushed and pulled her hand out of his grasp to cup his face. She ran her thumb lightly over his eyelids, bringing them close so she could kiss them. He grinned, but resisted returning her gesture. "I want to get this out. I want you to understand."

Sydney tried to hide her disappointment as she refocused on him with a more serious disposition. "A little while ago, Tai recovered my money. I have five hundred million dollars sitting in a variety of off shore accounts. It was the little push I needed to be completely financially stable. I don't have to do this anymore."

There was something he wasn't telling her. "There's more, isn't there?" she prodded.

"Yes," Sark admitted. He rolled on to his back, speaking to the ceiling. "The Guild doesn't allow defectors. Tai's been calling me, and she hasn't been exactly friendly."

"Was she the one who phoned you in the restaurant?" Sydney frowned, remembering their first argument as a couple.

"Yes," grimaced Sark. "She was threatening to hurt you if I didn't comply."

"She knows about us?" Sydney asked, alarmed.

Sark shrugged. "She kept hitting on me, love. Wouldn't take no for an answer. And eventually when I refused to have sex with her and I kept staying away from meetings abroad, she did a little snooping. Put two and two together and…" He trailed off.

"One day I'll have to kill that bitch," Sydney growled, feeling fiercely possessive of Sark.

"I've no doubt you will," Sark said, soothingly running a hand up and down her shoulder.

Sydney smiled up at him and snuggled closer to him. He wrapped his arms around her and buried his head into her mane of chestnut hair. "I love how you smell," he murmured. "Like rosewater and female."

Sydney laughed into his neck. She could feel her eyes starting to droop. "I'm sleepy," she announced.

"Probably feeling the effects of jetlag," Sark reasoned. As if to accent his words, he yawned. "Mhhhmmm…maybe just take a short nap."

"That's a good idea," Sydney smiled, words slightly slurred as sleep took over her body.

The lovers slept, curled up in each others arm as the warm Havana breeze blew in through the open window.

The familiar ringing of his cell phonewas what finally wokeSark from his slumber. Sydney was still curled up against his chest. He moved slowly and carefully so as not to wake her as he retrieved the phone in his discarded pants. "Sark," he snapped, voice groggy from his siesta.

"Sark, its Frou," came the sharp voice of the Scandinavian agent. "You're in trouble."

"What?" Sark inquired, suddenly far more alert.

"We believe the CIA is tracking you somehow," Frou explained. "They raided your London residence last night."

"I knew that," Sark retorted. "I dispersed the household and headed to one of my safe houses."

"Be that as it may," Frou frowned. "Tai thinks the Guild needs to meet to discuss all of our safety and positions. Igor and I agree."

"In Austria, as usual?" Sark inquired, already intending to blow the Guild off.

"Yes," Frou paused before going on. "Tai told us about the CIA agent…Bristow…and your supposed romantic attachment to her. She says…she says if you don't show in Austria, she's ordering your assassination. Yours and Bristow's."

Sark felt his stomach go cold. He would not have normally been balked by such a threat, but the danger to Sydney just wasn't worth it. "Don't worry," he said more firmly. "I'll leave today."

He hung up before Frou could reveal any other threats. He had a quick shower and had dried off and dressed before he allowed himself to look at the still sleeping Sydney. She was still sleeping innocently, one hand laying underneath her head, brown hair spread out on the white pillow. He gathered his suitcase, still packed, and lightened it by hanging up most of the suits in the wardrobe. He left enough clothes for four consecutive days, hoping they wouldn't need any longer. He rang up a contact and purchased an illegal plane ticket to Austria. Just as he was hanging up, Sydney sat up.

"Hey, baby," she grinned. "You're up early."

Sark came to sit down on the bed, running his hand through her hair. "I have to go," he said softly.

"What?" she cried, anguish glistening in her eyes.

"The Guild…we're in a tight spot," he admitted. "Frou thinks the CIA has caught on to me."

"Can't you just not go?" she suggested hopefully, pausing to kiss his neck.

Her soft ministrations were enough to make him wish he could stay in bed with this woman forever. How had it happened? How had he gone from wanting to use her to being so attached to her it was a constant ache? He felt a guilty pang thinking about the revealing pictures left for Agent Vaughn. If Sydney should ever find out about them, he didn't think he would be able to bear it. Again he chided himself for being a fool, letting his need for petty revenge put at risk a relationship with the most wonderful woman he had ever met. "No," he finally managed to protest. "But if I play it right, it could possibly be the last time I ever have to have anything to do with the Guild."

Sydney rolled out of bed and looked around, finally settling on his silk shirt from last night. It was just long enough to cover her bare bottom and left her long, muscled legs bare. Combined with her tousled hair and morning fresh face, it was an outfit that almost made Sark hard immediately. He tore his eyes from her legs, lest they be there all morning.

Sydney accompanied him downstairs and they sat down in the kitchen to wait for the car picking him up. He had decided to leave Sydney the Lexus so she could go exploring whenever she wished about Havana. Eventually Sydney got up and made him a quick breakfast with the few groceries they had picked up in town. She watched him as he ate, stroking his face and playing with his hair. When he was done, he leaned back, taking a warming pleasure from the domestic feel of their surroundings.

"That was delicious," he announced.

"It was just bacon and eggs," Sydney shrugged.

"And coffee," Sark reminded her. "The coffee was perfect."

Sydney laughed. Sark ran a finger up her leg. "I'm going to miss you, love."

A honking outside signalled the arrival of the taxi. Sark stood up and picked up his suitcase. Sydney followed him to the door. She remained in a brooding silence as he pulled on a light jacket and opened the door. He was about to leave, dying for her to say something, when all of a sudden, she pulled him to her and kissed him roughly, her hands cupping his face close to hers. "I love you," she whispered into his mouth as they parted the kiss.

He felt his jaw drop. He wanted to say a million things that would make her realize he felt the same way, that he always had and always would. He wanted her to know that just the sight of her filled him with enough joy to make him weep. He wanted to show her how she wanted to make him be good and just, so he might never disappoint her. But, eyes glistening, she shoved him out the door. "Be careful," she whispered. "I'll see you when you get back."

He paused at the bottom of the steps. "I am coming back," he assured her. "And when I do, you and I…we're going to talk. Because I…I…"

But she blew him a kiss and then was closing the door. Running a frustrated hand through his hair, he let himself into the taxi, filled with a mix of emotions. She loved him! He was ecstatic, but also upset that he had said nothing worthwhile after that astonishing revelation. But as the taxi pulled off into the dusty landscape and Sark tried to imprint the image of Sydney into his brain, he couldn't help but feel the overwhelming gnawing guilt. He had begun to love after using false pretences to make her care for him. He had left nude pictures of their sex life for her ex-boyfriend. How could any relationship with this amazing woman ever succeed when their foundation was made up of lies? Lies he himself had constructed and put in place.


	10. A Starcrossed Lover

**Disclaimer: **Alias belongs to JJ Abrams, ABC and the people at Bad Robot

**Rating: **R, for language and sexual themes in future chapters

**Pairing:** Sydney/Sark, suggested Sydney/Vaughn and Sark/Lauren

**Summary:** When Sydney makes the fatal mistake of trusting Sark with a gun in _Man of His Word, _Season 4, Sark takes the opportunity to revenge himself on Vaughn for Lauren's murder. However, after spending a prolonged time together, Sark and Sydney begin to develop feelings that neither of them anticipated.

**Author's Note: ** An AU version of the events in _Man of His Word_. What might have happened had Sydney trusted Sark with a gun during the fight with Anna at the club.

Blatantly stole a line from _Mr. and Mrs. Smith. _See if you can spot it!

**Chapter:** 10/14

**Chapter 10- Star-crossed Lover**

**Innsbruck**

Sark nervously ran a hand through his curled blonde hair. He regarded his reflection moodily, noting it was somewhat paler than usual. And the curls made him look younger than his twenty-seven years. After having his hair shaved in CIA custody, he had thought to keep it short to maintain the older, more experienced look it gave him. But Sydney, unlike Lauren, preferred the curls. He tilted his head a little and a small smile twitched on his lips. The curls weren't really all that bad. Kind of handsome in their own way. He let out a breath of frustration when he realized what he was actually thinking of. This was hardly the right opportunity to get carried away in thoughts of Sydney and one's personal appearance. Though he believed the choice of dressing in a sharp black suit and his favourite red silk shirt had been wise.

He had not truly understood the danger of his situation before arriving at his Innsbruck home late last night. Tai had met him at the gates, having already taken up residence. He remembered dryly wondering when his once favourite and most private residence had become a bed and breakfast for prominent terrorists. She had coldly ordered him to a meeting to question his recent conduct first thing the following morning. Her tone brooked no room for argument and for the first time, Sark realized his life could very well be in danger from the deadly woman.

Joshua Frou had joined him in his suite shortly after he had been settled and they had talked late into the night. Frou explained that Tai had completely seized total control in the few weeks since Sark's absence. She had their assets running all over the globe. Frou and Poladski had turned a blind eye, since neither of them was powerful in their own right to stop Tai's wildly ambitious agenda. But there could be no doubt, Frou had confided in hushed tones. Tai was attempting to re-establish the ECR using the means the Guild provided. Apparently Sark had made a very grievous mistake in trusting the Chinese minx.

"And there's more," Frou had said, leaning even closer. Sark had checked the room for bugs, but there was every possibility he could have missed some, not having any proper equipment. "She's been very keen to discover where you have relocated to. Igor and I cannot decide whether it's your head she wants or Sydney Bristow's."

"She can take my head," Sark growled. "But if she thinks she could take Syd's, she's got another thing coming. Did she forget exactly how easily Sydney kicked her ass?"

Frou shrugged. "Even the best agent can be taken out by a hidden sniper." Seeing Sark's dark look, he quickly rushed into the silence. "So far though, she doesn't know where you were hiding. Sydney is safe for now."

The anger pulsing in Sark was quite a magnificent thing. He had half a mind to barge into Tai's room immediately and shot her full of holes. "And you and Poladski have just sat by and done what she told you? Missed the class about using your spines in spy school, did we?"

"Well did you miss the class about sleeping with the enemy?" Frou shot back. "You've made yourself one of the most wanted men in the world. Wasn't it you who cautioned against making ourselves too notable. You have let down the Guild, Julian. You know you have."

"I don't care about the god damn Guild!" Sark exploded, heedless of any listening devices. "The only reason I'm here was to ensure Tai didn't send any assassins after Sydney and I. I'm defecting, Frou, I want out! I'm going home to Syd to live in peace."

"And where exactly are you hiding the little CIA bitch?" Frou had asked eagerly.

The odd and uncharacteristic question had stilled Sark's tirade. He paused, feeling the cold shock hit him. "She sent you here, didn't she?" he asked in a voice of ice. "Thought you could get into my confidences by ensuing me you thought her insane, and then find out where I had Sydney? Does she only want me here so she can deal with Sydney on her own?"

Frou didn't bother to deny the accusations brought forwards. "No," he finally answered. "She doesn't know where Sydney is. She only wanted you here in hopes we could get it out of you accidentally. Should have known you were too clever for that, Julian."

"Yes," Sark agreed fiercely. "You bloody well should have."

"Doesn't really matter though," Frou said breezily. "Unless you really bring something spectacular forward, she's going to kill you tomorrow morning. It will give me the distinct pleasure to see you killed, Mr. Sark. You've been an arrogant little prick since the first day Irina put you on the market. You think your minimal talents could sustain you without her protection, or that of Arvin Sloane's. Perhaps now you'll finally realize exactly how incompetent you are."

"Oh, really?" Sark said in a voice Frou should have known brooked no good.

"Do you doubt it?" Frou smirked.

"No," Sark agreed amicably. "But, I am afraid I will not be able to afford you the pleasure of seeing me killed." And before Frou could even react to that statement, Sark had whipped a pistol out of his jacket inner pocket and had shot him in between the eyes. He fell to the floor, immediately dead.

Sark had shoved him out the door and spent the rest of the night sitting in a chair set in the very centre of the room, waiting for dawn or an assassination attempt, whichever came first. Morning had come without any incident and he was now prepared to go and meet his doom or possibly mete out some of his own. Just before dawn, he had made an untraceable phone call and, using a voice distorter, had whispered "Julian Lazaery and Tai Ichiniwa can be found at 12 Sonnenuntergangstraße."

His only hope now as he made his way to the meeting with Tai was that the name Julian Lazaery really was one of the most wanted in the world. He reached the doors into the conference room he had been ordered to meet Tai in and hesitated, wondering if she would just start shooting the moment he opened the door. He doubted he would survive a shoot out against Tai Ichiniwa and Igor Poladski, but at least he could go down fighting for the right side, for possibly the first time in his life. He only regretted not being able to tell Sydney he loved her just once. He checked his guns, having no less than four hidden on his person, as well as additional ammunition. Then squaring his shoulders, he pushed open the doors and entered the entirely white room.

Tai was lounging on a high backed chair at the head of a long, clear table. She was dressed in white slacks and a white tank top, her long black hair drawn up in a complicated twist. A silver lap top stood open before her. Igor sat on her right, dressed entirely in black, contrasting starkly with the room. He let the doors close behind him, making sure they did not lock. There were no windows, and the only other exit was a secret one that would take some time to open. Sark took a few steps into the room and then stopped, standing stiffly in front of them. He nodded sharply towards Igor, but then focused on Tai, whom he decided was the real threat.

"Julian," she smirked, with a light tone. "I confess, I did not actually believe you would attend this meeting. Particularly after your festivities last night. Does Irina's spy school not teach that it never does to murder the members of one's own organization."

"Must have missed that one," Sark said coldly, with no trace of jest in his voice as he realized the bug must have been Frou himself.

"Clearly," Tai raised an eyebrow. "However, the situation is not irreversible. Frou's death, though…regrettable…is not enough to coax me to immediately blow your brains out."

"Well, thank you," Sark drawled.

"Sarcasm does not become you, darling," Tai chided him.

"Neither do terms of endearment out of your foul mouth," Sark snarled, letting his temper get the best of him.

"Now, now," Tai shook her finger at him. "That is hardly the way to treat the woman who holds your life in her hands. Or more importantly, Sydney Bristow's life."

Sark prayed to whatever deity was out there listening that he managed to keep the ice cold plunge of fear out of his face. Apparently something gave him a way, for Tai gave a small cackle. "Yes, you see, while you were busy killing off one of my men, I was doing a little bit of tracing on your journey here. You jumped around a bit, but once I discovered your alias, it was only too easy to trace you back to Havana. Sydney's been doing a bit of shopping in your absence."

She clicked a key on her laptop and a screen flicked to life behind her. A blurry but still identifiable image of Sydney appeared. She was shopping in a boutique. The street outside was clearly the main road in Havana's shopping district. Sark's heart dropped. "What do you want?" he asked, unable to keep the resignation out of his voice. He would do whatever was necessary to keep Sydney alive, even if he had to break her heart in the process.

"It's very simple," Tai explained. "Sydney can be killed easily enough. She thinks herself safe and hidden. But I don't want her killed, I want her brought to me alive. She and I are long overdue for a little chat. But taking Sydney alive is far easier said than done. Convince her to come to Austria with you. It shouldn't be too difficult. Once she is here, you'll hand her over to me."

"Where you'll torture her and then murder her to get your petty revenge because she took down your operation?" Sark demanded angrily. "Never. What's option two?"

Tai exchanged a significant look with Igor before answering. "I kill you now and have my men take down Sydney. It takes longer, but eventually we will get her."

Sark's blood was pounding, his mind racing to find a way out of this dreadful predicament. "Option three?" he asked hopefully, stalling for time.

"There is no option three, you moron," Tai hissed.

Sark gave a dry chuckle. "Talk about a Catch 22."

Tai was not to be distracted however. She pulled a gun out of the waistband of her bands. "Stop stalling for time, you treacherous bastard," she ordered, taking aim. "What option are we going with? One or two? Its really not that difficult of a concept!"

"_I'm_ treacherous?" Sark raised an eyebrow, eyes fixed on the gun in her hand.

The sound of gunfire in the outside hall drew his, Igor's and Tai's attention from the tension driven situation they were locked in. "What the hell?" Igor grunted, speaking for the first time.

"What's going on out there?" Tai demanded. "More of your games?"

"This has nothing to do with me," Sark lied, assuming this was the result of the anonymous call he had made early this morning.

The unlocked door burst open and Sanjay, Sark's bodyguard, rushed in, bleeding profusely from a gun wound in his shoulder and left thigh. "Sir!" he panted. "CIA! They've found us…you must escape. Run!"

A bullet, this time from within the room tore into Sanjay's throat. With the sound of gurgling blood, Sanjay sunk to the floor. Sark grabbed him, and lowered him gently. He closed his friend's eyelids and turned to face Tai, who held a smoking gun. "You stupid bitch!" he hissed. "We could have used him in the upcoming fight!"

"Upcoming fight?" screeched Tai. "This was your doing, or your little whore's! You won't be fighting."

"Not exactly true," Sark contradicted, cursing the CIA for being overachieving bastards. He had intended to be far away by the time they invaded his mansion. "My life is in just as much danger as yours. In case you've forgotten, my current liaisons have made me one of the most wanted men in the world."

"Liar!" Tai accused, fear in her eyes. Apparently her last run in with a CIA agent had left her none too keen to repeat it. "Surely a clever ruse."

"Frankly, Tai, I really don't have time to argue about this," Sark growled. He slammed the door shut, somewhat muffling the sounds of gunfire. He ran over to the table and overturned it, hoping to give them some minimal cover from the barrage of bullets they would soon be fading. Perhaps realizing their argument would have to be put aside till later if they wanted a chance to have it, Tai knelt behind the clear table, withdrawing another gun from up her leg. She aimed them on the opening door, grip steady as always. Igor began to move towards cover.

Sark, on the other hand, hurried towards the screen. He pressed his hand into the wall just to the left of it and a small panel flipped over. He typed in a number password. "Voice recognition," ordered the computer.

"Mockingbirds fly overhead on cloudy days," Sark answered clearly. The computer began processing.

"What the hell are you doing?" Tai snarled as Sark rejoined them.

"Getting us a way out of here," Sark replied, drawing out two of his guns. "You can thank me later."

There was no more time for talk however. A well aimed bullet blew the lock on the door and then they were in the middle of a heated shoot out. Sark cursed when he recognized Marcus Dixon, Jack Bristow and Eric Weiss. He had hoped to never have to fight Sydney's loved ones, but clearly they had been tracking him. He registered a slight surprise that Michael Vaughn and Nadia Santos were not present, before he began to return fire. He was careful to never aim to kill, hoping only to delay them until their escape route was open. A careful shot by Weiss caught Igor in the head only a few seconds into the wild shooting frenzy. The Russian went down, dead before his head hit the floor.

Tai let out a cry that reminded him distinctly of the one he had ushered learning Lauren was dead, making Sark distantly question whether or not she and Igor had been involved somehow. At that exact moment, the secret door finally opened. "Tai, we've got to go!" Sark hollered in her ear over the sounds of the bullets. They were crouched behind the table. It had proved surprisingly strong, but if Jack, Weiss and Dixon kept up their steady fire, the table would be shattered.

Tai nodded once to let him know she understood. Keeping low to the ground, Sark raced over to the door. He reached the cool shelter of the hidden tunnel before realizing the Chinese woman had not followed him. "Tai!" he screamed. He wasn't keen to save her, but knew she would be better under his protection than left to make her own way.

She turned before entering the chamber, and aimed her gun at Weiss. "Take that, you fat asshole," she screamed, pulling the trigger. Sark tried to distort her aim, but he was too slow. Weiss went down, but Sark had clearly seen her bullet pierce his leg. He should survive, for which Sark was thankful. He pulled Tai in and slammed the door shut.

"Are you mad?" he shouted. "You never delay me again, you stupid prat!"

"He was my lover," Tai snapped in her own defence, and Sark was startled to see tears burning in her slanted brown eyes.

Sark rolled his eyes, feeling very little real sympathy. He grabbed her wrist and pulled her after him. "I hate it when you cold bitches go all warm and weepy."

She said nothing, merely allowing him to drag her after him. The tunnel was relatively long and dark. After a few short steps the cool cement was replaced by dirt walls and floors. The ceiling was low, so they had to run in an awkward crouched position. As they ran, Sark pulled out his cell phone and dialled a six digit number. "Hans, I need immediate extraction on the east side of the estate," he snapped into the phone. "Be prepared to deal with enemy fire."

"Roger that," came the ever calm and easy voice of Sark's personal pilot. Sark hung up the phone and continued running, hopeful to reach the waiting helicopter before the CIA got outside. He suspected if they had only sent three agents into the room that was all they had. Which meant that this was an APO mission, not one with the full backing of the CIA. The part of him that was Sark, the spy and assassin was grateful that Tai had shot Eric Weiss. Hopefully Jack and Dixon would be distracted long enough by that to allow them ample time to escape.

They reached the end of the tunnel in good time. It led to a door that would look like a simple entrance into the cellar. Sark and Tai paused, catching their breath before risking the last stretch- a run across an open lawn to their waiting escape. "Ready?" Sark inquired, laying a hand on the door handle.

"I'm always ready," Tai nodded, though Sark noticed her eyes were still glistening suspiciously.

He flung open the door, and was relieved to hear nothing. He risked poking his head out. There was no sign of any threat. He vaulted out of the tunnel and reached down, helping to pull Tai out. "Where's the helicopter?" she inquired.

"Over there, just before the forest starts," Sark answered, pointing to where the helicopter was already waiting. Hans certainly knew the meaning of 'immediate.'

They began the last, loping run. Before they had really gotten started however, gun shots sounded from behind them, and an angry male voice. Sark risked a look behind him and saw a jeep tearing after them. He groaned. Michael Vaughn was behind the wheel and Nadia Santos was hanging out the passenger side, giving fire.

"Run!" he breathed. Seeing Tai still standing and looking at the approaching jeep, he grabbed her arm and roughly pushed her forward. "RUN!" They took off, racing across the open stretch of land. As Sark heard the jeep draw closer and closer, he realized they weren't going to make it. He cursed himself for buying such large property.

Sark risked a glace back and saw the jeep was only a few feet behind them. Nadia was still firing, but the bumping movement was making it difficult for her to get proper aim. _'Goodbye, Sydney,'_ he thought sadly. _'Perhaps you should have stayed faithful to Agent Vaughn. He treated you better than I ever managed.'_

But, just as he was ready for death, he heard the miraculous noise of the jeep turning off. "Vaughn, no!" screamed Nadia. "What the hell do you think you're doing?"

"I'm going to break his neck!" came the furious voice of Michael Vaughn. Sark could have laughed in sheer joy. If Vaughn thought he had a chance in one on one combat, he was about to make a serious mistake.

The halting of the vehicle, gave Nadia a serious advantage, however. She was finally able to get a clear shot. As Vaughn pursued the fleeing terrorists, she took one good shot, and pierced the back of Tai's neck. Sark continued, running, not even giving her a backwards glance. She could go and rot with her lover in hell. With the death of the last member of the Guild, he was finally assured of Sydney's safety. He had almost reached the helicopter, when Vaughn hollered at him. "Sark, wait!"

And for reasons Sark never really understood, he stopped and turned to face Vaughn. Perhaps, he later reasoned, he felt he owed Sydney's shunned lover that much. He could truly appreciate how Vaughn was feeling, because every day he was sure Sydney would come to her senses and return to this man. The man who had never had questionable morals and who had never put her friends in danger or to their deaths. "What do you want, Agent Vaughn?" he inquired wearily. "A duel to the death or just mortal injury?"

"I want her back," he demanded. "Where is she?"

"Safe," Sark replied. "And that is all that need concern you."

"I'm her boyfriend, for God's sake," Vaughn argued. "Can you not ever see happiness without wanting to destroy it? Could you not have just let us be? Fine. I don't care if you wanted to escape CIA custody, or even if you wanted to kidnap Sydney. But why are you seducing her? Do you actually think one day she won't wake up and realize she's sleeping with a cold-blooded killer? One day she's going to realize the man who she really loves is standing right here." Vaughn gestured to himself.

Sark hesitated, trying to battle his emotions. Normally Vaughn was very inadept at inciting any sort of emotion in Sark, unless it was cruel amusement. But he could finally relate how it felt to be in love with Sydney Bristow, and Vaughn had hitched immediately upon Sark's greatest fear. That he would lose Sydney when she realized exactly what sort of a man he was. "I am sorry for your loss, Agent Vaughn," he said, and only just managed to hide his surprise that he was entirely earnest in his apology.

"You're sorry?" Vaughn cried in ridicule. "Well, thanks, Sark. That makes me feel a hell of a lot better. I don't want your apologies, I want her. Now just tell me where she is."

"I'm afraid I can't do that," Sark said, trying to be cordial.

"And why is that?" Vaughn asked through clenched teeth.

"Well, you would undoubtedly try to stage some sort of rescue, and I can't allow that," he explained. Over Vaughn's shoulder, he saw Nadia heading towards them with trepidation, having finished securing Tai. "This may have started out as some petty attempt to get revenge on you for Lauren, but I've really only just realized something standing here looking at you."

"And what is that?" Vaughn demanded, trying to discreetly fumble for his gun and failing miserably. Sark's still hung limply in his hand and he prayed he wouldn't have to use it.

"I am in love with Sydney Bristow and she with me," he announced unabashedly. "And if you ever try to 'rescue her,' I will have no choice but to kill you. And I know that would upset her to no end."

With an angry snarl, Vaughn whipped his gun out, clearly intending to finish it. But Sark was far too quick for him. He brought the gun up and fired two wild shots in succession. Vaughn let out a grunt and then crumbled to the ground. Sark hastily knelt beside him and searched desperately for a pulse. He found none and prayed desperately that his impulses had not ended the man's life.

"VAUGHN!" screamed Nadia, running towards them. She had her own gun out and was firing angrily at Sark. Deciding his time was up and that the doctors at the CIA could do more good for Vaughn than he could, Sark turned and ran. He leapt up into the helicopter.

"Go, Hans, go!" he ordered. The chopper lifted up, and Sark stayed kneeling at the edge, watching with a feeling of dread in his stomach as Nadia knelt by the crumpled form of Agent Vaughn, desperately checking for vital signs.

"You sure kicked his ass, boss," Hans said in his congratulatory way.

"Yeah," Sark said, taking his seat. He could never remember feeling so depressed and disappointed in himself. "I guess I did." He shook his head, and then angrily scrubbed at his eyes that seemed to be filling with tears. "Take me to the airport, Hans. I need to get a plane to Havana."

"Roger that, sir."

**Havana**

Sydney turned up the radio to full blast, allowing the sound of 'Mr. Brightside' by the Killers to blast throughout the evening Havana countryside. She had spent quite a few hours tearing around Cuba in the Lexus. There was nothing Sydney liked more than fast cars. She missed Sark quite a bit, and hated sleeping in her empty bed every night. It was when she was alone in the dark that guilty images of Vaughn would haunt her. Or even worse, she would see Sark, laying dead or grievously wounded, at the hand of Tai Ichiniwa. But the worst dream she had yet to experience was one that woke her in a cold sweat. Sark was laying dead at the feet of Vaughn, who held a smoking gun and wore a victorious grin.

She shook her head angrily and turned the music up some more. There was no point on dwelling on nightmares, for they were very seldom repeated in real life. And unlike her dreams shortly after returning from her time in the Covenant, Sydney could recognize that the nightmares were just that- dreams. Besides, she had the warm Havana days to be thankful for- full of long, fast car rides, swims in the afternoon, shopping in the morning, and spending every waking moment finally being able to relish in the tourist industry. Unfortunately, just as she had managed to get her spirits up, the radio switched for a sad and dreary ballad by some pop star with a haunting voice. Shivering despite the warm night breeze, Sydney switched the radio off. Checking to make sure the deserted road she was on remained just that, she performed a spectacular wheelie in the middle of the desert and headed for home.

She hadn't been out driving for long, and with the pedal to the ground, she reached the terracotta house in under ten minutes. She turned off the ignition and retrieved a shopping bag from the back seat. She had discovered an excellent bookstore and had picked up a few historical fictions to pass the evenings until Julian returned. She locked the door and headed to the front door, juggling her bag and purse to push her keys into the lock. She frowned when she realized it was unlocked. She knew for a fact she had locked the front door. Immediately she tensed, feeling her finely tuned senses kick into overdrive.

She was dressed in a jean skirt and a grey tank top, certainly not the most sensible outfit for hand combat. She dropped the keys into her purse and exchanged them for a hand pistol. Despite Sark's assurances that she would be perfectly safe in his home, she was not a woman who could feel protected without the presence of one of her guns. And she had many, though all were in Los Angeles. This was one Sark had left her before leaving. She had an unexpected pang for her old house, Nadia and their neighbour Eric. As she pushed open the front door, her last thought was wondering if Nadia and Eric had moved on any in their relationship. Then she banished it, concentrating on discovering the intruder.

She didn't have to go far to find him. The intruder was sitting in the living room watching the news. She identified him easily. And when she did, all thoughts of guns or family were pushed from her head. He stood with a wide smile, she dropped her shopping things and the revolver and threw herself into Julian Sark's outstretched arms. It wasn't until she was safe in his arms and he had lifted her up and swung her around that she realized exactly how much she had missed him. He kissed her cheek and then put her down, to have easier access to her lips.

"Hey, baby," she greeted when they parted. "I wasn't expecting you home so soon." He had barely been gone three days.

"I couldn't stay away," he grinned, kissing her again. She held him at shoulder's length and looked him up and down.

"Well, my initial inspection shows no sign of injury," she smiled, relieved.

Sark pulled her closer, sensuality in his every movement as he grinded his pelvis into hers. "Would you like to make a more thorough inspection?" he murmured in her ears.

Only a woman with Sydney's strong will could have resisted his seduction. "Not at the moment," she said briskly, breaking the moment. "I want to know what happened." Ignoring his protests, she led him to the couch and sat him down, snuggling in next to him. "Tell me what happened, and then you can get your sexual pleasure, you horny bastard."

He raised a wry eyebrow in her direction. "There's not much to tell, actually," he admitted. "Leastways, not of my grand deeds. I went to the manor in Innsbruck, and we commenced a meeting the next morning. Things weren't going exactly the way I planned, honestly. But before my life was in serious danger, we were interrupted by some friends of yours."

"Who?" Sydney asked, eager to hear any news of her old friends.

"Oh…you know…your father, Eric Weiss, Marcus Dixon, your sister, and, my personal favourite, Michael Vaughn," Sark listed them off. "They did their job very well. I was the only one to escape. Which was for the best. Tai had learned of our current whereabouts. She was going to either kill me or force me to turn you over. I was in a rather tight spot."

"And now she's dead?" Sydney asked anxiously, glancing around half expecting to see men in black scale down from the roof.

"Shot by your sister, actually," Sark informed her. "And Weiss took out Poladski."

"What about Joshua Frou?"

"Oh…well. I took care of him the previous night," Sark admitted. "We had a slight disagreement and…well, to make a long story short, he ended up with one of my bullets in his head."

Sydney didn't ask him to elaborate, she was only relieved that he was dead. She and Sark were safe to remain together in Havana. "And…what of the people from APO?" she inquired, worriedly. "Were they all fine?"

Sark hesitated before answering. "I believe so," he finally replied. "Eric Weiss took a shot to the leg- one of Tai's- but I think he should recover."

Sydney let out a breath she didn't realize she had been holding. "Thank God," she grinned. "And what about Vaughn? How was he?"

Seeing the look on Sark's face, she thought in hindsight it was not perhaps the most tactful thing to ask of her new lover. The look quickly faded and Sark kissed her on the forehead. "He's perfectly fine," he assured her. "Didn't suffer a scratch. Though he seemed eager to give me one."

"Well, I suppose he would be," Sydney said. She tried to keep her tone light, but she wasn't sure she quite succeeded. She turned to Sark, wearing a seductive grin. "Now, what was that you were saying about a more…thorough…inspection?" She began to pull the grey dress shirt he wore out of his pants, but he pulled her hand up to his lips and kissed it.

"Oh, that's no good now, love," he chided teasingly. "Now you have to come and see what surprise I have for you out back." He pulled her up and led her out on into the backyard.

"I love surprises," Sydney smiled.

"I know," whispered Sark. "Now, close your eyes."

Their back yard bordered on one of the many beaches in Cuba. Sark led Sydney down to the beach now, never letting go of her hand. Sydney felt perfectly safe being guided by him. They stopped shortly after grains of sand began running through her toes. "Okay, now open them," he instructed.

They were standing in front of a picnic blanket. There were little candles lit surrounding the blanket and a picnic basket. "Surprise," whispered Sark, drawing Sydney into his arms.

They dined together on the beach, serenaded by the sound of the waves breaking on the beach. Dinner was good, and Sark insisted he had cooked it entirely by himself, though Sydney wasn't entirely sure she believed him. There was also a bottle of champagne which they had gotten half way through by the end of the meal. Sark poured them each another glass as talk turned to their families.

"I think you and every other spy know all about my family," Sydney shrugged. "Including, the fact that my father…murdered…my mother."

"Only because she was plotting your murder," Sark said quickly, though he found it difficult to believe that, even of Irina.

"Was that supposed to be comforting?" Sydney asked wryly. In some ways though, she had come to accept her mother's death. She heard a little voice inside her head remind her that Vaughn had played a huge part in that acceptance. Her heart, however, was quick to tell the voice to shut the hell up.

Sark pulled Sydney to him, kissing her gently. He ran his hands up and down her arms, working warmth back into them. "No, but that was," he said, breaking the kiss.

"Well, it worked…a little," she admitted with a soft smile. "What about you, Julian? I knew your father. What was your mum like?"

"My mother was a perfect angel," Sark said softly, emotion lacing his voice. "You would have loved her. She was a little like Emily Sloane. And like Emily, her evil husband was devoted to her."

"Your father wasn't evil," Sydney contradicted Sark gently.

"Perhaps not," Sark shrugged. "But he never had any great love for me. I will never begrudge him for not loving my mother enough, though. He gave her everything she wanted, especially when she fell ill. He even built her a holiday home in the South Pacific. We spent many happy summers there, on Samoa Island. I still go back there sometimes, when the world just gets too much to handle. Its my own personal sanctuary."

"I think it was the one place we could go where we could forget about my mother's illness, my father's job and the fact that I was turning into a world class teenage delinquent. If I could go back…I would have been so much better to her. I didn't know how much I loved her until the day she died."

Sydney looked up, startled to see the tears shining in Julian's eyes. "After her death, I think the last hope of my improvement was wiped out. My father sent me to a year round boarding school and shortly after my high school graduation, Irina found me." He shrugged. "The rest is history."

"Your mother loved you, Julian," Sydney said confidently. "And I'm sure she knew you loved her."

"How can you be sure?" Sark inquired rhetorically. "You can't. It is just one of the many regrets I must live with."

Sydney rolled over, so she was sitting in Sark's lap. "What about me, Julian?" she inquired, pressing her forehead to his. "Am I going to be one of those many regrets?"

Sark captured her lips in a kiss. "Don't be foolish, love," he said in a whisper. "You see, I love you. Possibly more than I have ever loved anything in my entire life. Which would make it very difficult to regret you or anything about you." He drew her to him in a fierce embrace and kissed the top of her head.

"Well, then I guess we're going to be all right," Sydney sighed contentedly into his chest.

Sark looked down at the exquisite woman in his arms, and felt the guilty conscience become even heavier. His thoughts wandered again to Michael Vaughn who was surely dying. But for fear of losing her, he made his voice happy and light. "Yes, so it would appear, my love."


	11. Coming Apart at the Seams

**Disclaimer: **Alias belongs to JJ Abrams, ABC and the people at Bad Robot

**Rating: **R, for language and sexual themes in future chapters

**Pairing:** Sydney/Sark, suggested Sydney/Vaughn and Sark/Lauren

**Summary:** When Sydney makes the fatal mistake of trusting Sark with a gun in _Man of His Word, _Season 4, Sark takes the opportunity to revenge himself on Vaughn for Lauren's murder. However, after spending a prolonged time together, Sark and Sydney begin to develop feelings that neither of them anticipated.

**Author's Note: **An AU version of the events in _Man of His Word_. What might have happened had Sydney trusted Sark with a gun during the fight with Anna at the club.

**Chapter:** 11/14

**Chapter 11- Falling Apart at the Seams**

**Vienna**

The shouts of the paramedics rang in Nadia's ears as she rushed after the gurney carrying an unconscious Vaughn into a CIA-run hospital. "He's bleeding internally!" cried a dark-haired nurse, checking his pulse for what seemed like the hundredth time.

"Doctor Von Mieux is ready for him," a tall male with glasses informed Nadia. She nodded vaguely, worry for Vaughn affecting all of her senses. Without waiting for any of her partners, she had radioed for one of the helicopters waiting on standby. They had flown to the nearest CIA hospital in Vienna and immediately rushed Vaughn into emerge. The paramedics in the helicopter had looked grim and those in the hospital even more so.

Nadia took several deep breaths, trying to fight down the bubble of fear welling up inside of her. She knew that Vaughn was in the best hands in the country and there was nothing she could do for him now besides pray. Unconsciously, she cracked her knuckles, blinking away furiously the hot tears that were forming in her eyes. Cries of '_he's lost too much blood'_ echoed back to her through the white, swinging doors Vaughn had disappeared behind.

"Miss, would you like to sit down?" inquired the dark-haired nurse Nadia had noticed before. "I'll go and get you a cup of coffee."

"Thank you," Nadia said tightly, forcing herself not to take her anxiety out on the woman who was just trying to do her job. The nurse led Nadia to a waiting room and promised to return shortly with a strong cup of coffee. The waiting room was very typical and seemed identical to any of the thousands of hospital rooms one might find in America. The white walls were very sparsely decorated with a few cheap prints of local artists. Plastic orange chairs were sporadically sitting around the room, and a few end tables had a collection of outdated Austrian magazines. Nadia settled uneasily into one of the chairs and took out her cell phone. She punched in Eric's phone number, knowing her boyfriend must be worried sick by now.

"Weiss," he answered the phone by way of greeting. She could hear the worry and irritation in his voice.

"Hey," she smiled, his voice bringing some semblance of calm to her agitated body. "It's me…Nadia."

"Nadia!" he exclaimed. "Thank God. I…I mean, we…have been worried sick. Where the hell are you?"

"In the Vienna hospital."

"What? Why?" Weiss asked.

"Sark shot Vaughn," she informed him, trying to keep the quake out of her voice. "He's in pretty bad shape. The doctors say he's lost too much blood and he's bleeding internally. The idiot wasn't wearing his vest."

"Oh fuck," Weiss cured, and Nadia could visualize him going pale. "Did you get Sark or the Ichiniwa woman?"

"Sark got away," Nadia admitted. "But I shot Ichiniwa. She's dead…a bullet in the back of the neck. What about you? Are you all right?"

"More or less," he shrugged. "I got shot in the leg, so I'm currently inactive. But Dixon and Jack got off without a scratch. And I got Igor Poladski."

"Any sign of Frou?"

"No," Weiss admitted. "He wasn't in the meeting room when we barged in, so its possible he wasn't even in Innsbruck. Or he may have defected."

Nadia bit her lip. Two out of four really wasn't all that good. She tried desperately to remember what direction Sark's helicopter had left in, but she had been too distracted by Vaughn's crumpled form. She supposed it didn't really matter. Sark would have been quick to abandon the identifiable machine, or at least change direction once out of sight. He could be half way around the world by now. They had lost him again.

"Any chance of getting a little company?" she inquired. "I'm feeling…pretty low. I don't know if Vaughn's going to make it." Tears sprung into her eyes again and she cursed at them inwardly.

"Don't worry, baby," Eric said soothingly. She thought it might have been his first use of a term of endearment that made her tears cease and a watery smile twitch at her lips. "We'll be there as soon as we can."

"'Kay, thank you," Nadia said gratefully. "I hope your leg heals well."

"Meh," Eric scoffed. "I've had worse. Did I ever tell you about the time I got shot in the neck?"

"Only about a thousand times," Nadia giggled.

"Oh…well then," Eric grunted. His tone quickly softened, however "It may take us a while to get there. Sloane recalled the helicopters, so we're temporarily trapped in Innsbruck. But I'll see you soon."

"Yup, take care, Eric."

"You too," he cautioned. "Bye."

Nadia hung up and slipped the cell phone into her bag just as the nurse returned with her coffee. She took the paper cup gratefully and slurped at it greedily, eager for the caffeine jolt. "Is there any news on Michael Vaughn…the man I came in with?" she asked, hopeful for more news.

The nurse shrugged unhelpfully. "The doctors are doing all they can," she assured Nadia. "But he has been terribly wounded. We'll let you know immediately if there is any worsening or improvement."

Nadia nodded, looking down at her cup of coffee, suddenly wanting to go to sleep and wake up when all of this was over. The nurse took this as a sign to leave, and Nadia was grateful, for the tears were finally starting to slide down her cheeks. Worry for Vaughn, fury at Sark and disappointment in Sydney were completely overwhelming her. How could Sydney do this to them? She knew she shouldn't blame her sister, especially after standing up for her in front of the others, but now things were becoming ridiculous. Her actions might have cost the man she had once loved before all others his life. Wiping away the teardrops angrily, Nadia drained her coffee and leaned back in the plastic chair, knowing she could do nothing but wait.

Almost nine hours later, Nadia was still sitting in the plastic chair. She had picked up a magazine and was engrossed in translating the German into English in her head. German was not one of her best languages, so she appreciated the challenge. At least it was something to drive her thoughts away from Vaughn. About an hour ago the same dark-haired nurse had come to tell her Vaughn was still unconscious and they believed he had become comatose. She admitted he was still bleeding internally and would not or could not answer when Nadia demanded to know if he would live.

People had come and gone in those hours, and now, close to eleven o'clock at night, the waiting room was empty of anyone save Nadia. Her eyes were beginning to hurt from the small German print, so she abandoned her attempt. She wanted nothing more than to sleep. She curled her legs around her and was about to attempt sleep in the uncomfortable chair, when a very welcome distraction burst in through the door. Jack Bristow, Marcus Dixon and Eric Weiss, on crutches, entered the waiting room. "Hello, Nadia," Marcus greeted with some semblance of a grin.

"Hey, Dixon," she smiled back, though she suspected it was a very weak grin. Eric hobbled over and gave her a kiss on the cheek before taking the seat next to her. Marcus sat across from them, but Jack continued to pace about the room.

"Has there been any news?" he demanded.

"None worth knowing," Nadia shrugged. "About an hour ago they told me they he was comatose and that he was still bleeding internally."

"Do they know if he's going to survive?" Dixon inquired.

"I don't think they have any idea at this stage," Nadia replied wearily.

"You're tired," Jack noticed. "The CIA safe house is only a few minutes away. We can wait here in shifts. Those of us at the safe house can attempt to locate Sark or Joshua Frou."

"No," argued Nadia, though surprised and touched by Jack's concern. "I want to stay here. It's what Sydney would have wanted to do."

There was a dark look in Jack's eyes. "We can no longer know what Sydney would want." Nadia hadn't realized until that moment exactly how furious Jack was with Sydney. She suspected he would welcome her back into the CIA, but she would have a lot of explaining to do before her father would forgive her. Nadia supposed in some ways Sydney's actions and choices must have reminded Jack of their mother, Irina Derevko. Jack visibly got his emotions under control before continuing. "Please accept my offer, Nadia. We have all had the opportunity to sleep, but I doubt you got any shut eye in this place. You'll need all your strength in the coming days and you do Vaughn no good by collapsing from exhaustion."

Nadia could not argue the relevance of this argument. So, saying good night to Dixon and Weiss who agreed to take the night watch, she and Jack departed for a nearby CIA safe house. The house turned out to be located in a street of town houses- number 347. Jack typed in the password on a panel outside the door and entered the darkened hallway. Jack made his way into the kitchen and Nadia followed wearily.

Jack was rummaging around in the cupboards and pulling out some boxed pasta. "You should eat something," he informed her coolly as she slumped on to a high stool by an island counter top. Nadia watched silently as he brought a pot of water to boil and dumped the box into it. As he was waiting for the noodles to soften he turned to face her. "Vaughn is in the best hands," he said, in what she assumed was his assuring voice. "If anyone can save him, it's the doctors he's with right now."

"Well, maybe no one can save him," Nadia pointed out bitterly.

"Maybe not," Jack admitted, not one to deny the obvious facts for false hope. "But Vaughn has an unwelcome habit of surviving any illness or wound he sustains."

Nadia remembered Vaughn and Sydney telling her tragic stories full of mysterious illness and even an angry stab wound given by Sydney herself. "But every time he had Sydney with him," she pointed out, as Jack drained the pasta and added sauce and seasoning.

"Yes, well, my daughter doesn't seem eager to show up to urge him to recover, does she?" Jack asked bitterly, slamming down Nadia's pasta a little harder than necessary.

"I can't believe Sydney would stay with Sark if she knew what he had done to Vaughn," Nadia said firmly, refusing to believe her sister could have sunk so low so quickly. "Sark's not likely to just pop out that little tidbit when she asks him where he went, is he?"

"Well, two months ago I wouldn't have believed Sydney would ever forgive a man as vile as Sark his trespasses," Jack pointed out dryly. "But she certainly appears to have done that rather quickly. Then again, I'm the man who fell for the old sleeping with the enemy ruse. Seems to be a Bristow family trait."

Nadia remembered her harsh insult on Vaughn and Jack back in Sark's mansion. "Jack…when I said that…I didn't mean it," she stumbled. "I was just trying to defend Sydney."

"Oh no, it was quite right of you to say it," Jack said honestly, with a look Nadia couldn't read. "I have never seen you look quite so much like your father than you did at that moment."

Nadia knew that wasn't a compliment. The remainder of the meal passed in awkward silence and it was with great relief that Nadia finally made her way to a bedroom on the top floor. She stripped down to her undergarments and sank thankfully into the covers. Sleep quickly overtook her.

The Argentinean was only allowed a few precious of hours of sleep, however. At three o'clock in the morning, Jack banged on her door. "What?" she demanded sleepily, barely awake.

Jack poked his head in the door and Nadia could see the worry etched in his face. "Dixon called," he answered. "Vaughn's condition is quickly deteriorating. The doctors say we should come in. Just in case it's…the end."

Nadia let out a cry of anguish before she could silence it. "I'll be down in a minute," she assured Jack. He left and she quickly pulled on yesterday's clothes, which were laying wrinkled in a pile on the floor. The drive to the hospital was swift and silent. Jack kept the petal to the metal, and Nadia made no attempt to make friendly conversation. The air was filled with the awkwardness brought on by Jack's comment. They pulled up to the hospital and hurried inside.

Dixon was waiting for them in the waiting room. He stood up to greet them. "How is he?" Nadia asked worriedly.

Dixon frowned. "Its not looking good," he admitted. "The doctors have done all they can, but they doubt they can keep him alive for another twenty-four hours. They say he's not giving them anything to work with. Its like he doesn't even want to fight to stay alive."

"Can you blame him?" Jack asked coldly.

"Are we allowed to go in and see him?" Nadia asked, ignoring Jack's bitter comment.

"Yes," Dixon answered. "That's where Eric is right now." He pointed Nadia in the direction and then sat down next to Jack. "Second door on your right."

Nadia pushed open the swinging white doors and made her way to Vaughn's room. Vaughn was laying in a hospital bed, hooked up to at least three complicated looking machines. There was a doctor and two nurses hovering around him, but when Nadia entered they withdrew. The doctor clasped her shoulder. "There's nothing more we can do for him at the moment."

Eric was sitting in a chair by Vaughn's bed, looking more haggard than Nadia could ever remember seeing him. Vaughn himself was extremely pale. The wound was hidden under the white covers, but his lips were bloodstained, no doubt from the blood that had been leaving him internally. His breathing was laboured, and barely detectable at times. "Eric?" Nadia questioned, hurrying to her lover.

Weiss looked up, and Nadia could see his eyes looked rather bloodshot. She hugged him tightly. "I can't believe it," he said hoarsely. "Every single time, I just knew he was going to pull through. There was never any doubt in my mind. But the doctors say he's not fighting. He needs Sydney, Nadia."

Nadia frowned, for that thought had also been in her mind. "Just Sydney being here isn't going to fix anything, Weiss. You know that."

"I do," Weiss admitted. "But I also know that it can't hurt. Furthermore, she'd want to be here."

"How can you know that?" Nadia demanded, anger bubbling up inside her. "Sydney abandoned us, Weiss! She left all of us and betrayed her country for some fucking British assassin! I don't think she deserves to be here!"

"You don't believe that anymore than I do," Weiss sighed, his voice calm. "I don't know why Sydney's done what she's done, but it could be her way of rebelling. She hasn't exactly had an easy time of it. No vacation time, you understand?" When he saw his feeble attempt at a joke wasn't working, he grew more serious. "I've known her longer than you have, Nadia. Even if she doesn't love Mike anymore, she'd want to be here for him, if it _is_ the end."

"We don't know where she is," Nadia complained. "How are we supposed to find her and get her back here in time?"

"If anyone could tell us, it would be your father," Weiss pointed out. "I'm not one to want to ask favours of Sloane, but I think he'll tell us all APO has managed to get since we've been gone." He handed Nadia his cell phone. "Make the call, Nadia."

Nadia sighed and snatched the phone away. Eric was right. Sydney needed to be here if Vaughn really was dying. She punched in the number of her father's private cell phone. After three rings, he picked up. "Arvin here," came his cold voice.

"Dad…it's me…Nadia," she said.

"Hello, sweetheart," Sloane's voice lost a considerable amount of coldness. "I'm so glad to hear from you. Jack wasn't sure of your whereabouts when we last spoke."

"I'm fine," she assured her father. "But Dad, Michael Vaughn is dying. We're all at a hospital in Vienna. The doctors aren't sure if he'll last another twenty-four hours."

"Is Sydney with you?" Sloane asked hopefully.

"No," Nadia admitted. "Sark got away. He was the one who shot Vaughn. We need to know where she is, Dad. I think she'll come back if she knows it'll be the last time she sees Michael. Do you know where she is?"

"We don't know an exact address," admitted Sloane. "But we've recovered surveillance photos of Sydney in the Havana shopping district."

"Havana, Cuba?" repeated Nadia in disbelief. Her sister certainly was getting quite a vacation out of the entire situation.

"The very same," nodded Sloane.

"Well, I guess that's where I'm off to," Nadia sighed in resignation. "I'll talk to you soon, Dad."

"I'll have a plane ticket waiting for you at the Vienna International Airport. But be careful, sweetheart," cautioned Sloane. "We don't know what Sydney's allegiances currently are. And we have no idea how Sark will react if you just show up."

"Don't worry about me," Nadia grinned. "I've been doing the whole breaking and entering thing longer than I should have. Love you, Dad."

"I love you too," Sloane returned, and she could hear the emotion in his voice.

She hung up the phone and exchanged victorious grins with Weiss. Her side of the conversation had given him all the information he needed. Nadia paused a moment, taking Vaughn's limp hand in hers. "Hold on, Vaughn," she begged. "I'm going to get Sydney. You're going to be okay."

Vaughn made no response that he had heard her. Nadia tried to not look too disappointed as she gave Weiss a quick kiss on the cheek. She dared one hopeful glance at Vaughn, and then turned, practically running out of the room. Every single second could be crucial.

"Nadia! What are you doing?" asked an alarmed Dixon as she crashed into the room. "Is it Vaughn?"

"Vaughn's the same as always," Nadia answered quickly. "I'm going to Havana."

"Havana?" snapped Jack. "Why?"

"To bring Sydney back," replied Nadia smartly. "I'm taking your car to the airport, Jack."

"Nadia Santos, don't you dare!" cautioned Jack, but she was already gone, fumbling with the keys she had swiped out of the immobile hands of Jack Bristow. She didn't know how much time she had, and she was determined to get Sydney back in time to say good bye to Vaughn.

**Havana**

Sark felt rather than heard Sydney re-enter their bedroom in his Havana villa. He rolled over languidly, the light white covers falling a bit to reveal his bare chest. The sunlight was filtering in through the north facing window, meaning it had to be well after dawn. He lazily opened his eyes, searching for Sydney. "Morning, love," he drawled, unable to find her with his head on the pillow.

"Good morning, sleepy head," Sydney smiled. "Why don't you sit up and see what I've brought you? Your little girl worked her butt off this morning!"

Sark struggled up to find Sydney standing at the foot of the bed with a tray set with breakfast for two. A grin broke on his face, but he felt the guilt in his stomach churn, making the thought of food almost unbearable. Sydney was happily making him breakfast and joking with him while Michael Vaughn's life was surely draining away, if not already spent. He lifted his eyes from the tray to her, hoping to take solace. It certainly worked. She was dressed in a light blue, silk nightgown that fell just above her knees. Her long brown hair had been pulled up in a very sloppy bun and she wore an anxious smile.

"There's excellent variety," she promised. "So there should be something you like."

"I'm sure I'll love it all," Sark said, trying to be hungry for her sake. "Come over here and sit beside me."

Carefully balancing the tray, Sydney slipped into bed beside him and lay the tray between them. It was full to the point of overfilling with Belgium waffles, sliced melons and oranges, bacon, scrambled eggs, two empty glasses and a pitcher of orange juice. "I wanted to prove that I can actually cook," she explained, popping a piece of perfectly done bacon in her mouth.

"I suspect you could have ordered this all from a nearby restaurant and put it on my dishes," Sark accused her jokingly.

"_Our_ dishes," Sydney corrected him. "And don't think I didn't think about it. But I've had plenty of opportunity to practise cooking the last month."

Sark felt another pang of guilt. He had always had some sort of business to attend to during their relationship, but Sydney was being forced into the old fashioned concept of a woman, simply waiting around for him to have time for her, both in London and now Havana. He knew that he had made a gallant effort to give her all his time, but very often he had things that simply needed to be done. It could not be easy for a woman used to flying around the world every week to protect her country. He shovelled a mouthful of egg into his mouth, but found it tasted like ashes. Sydney was eating eagerly enough, so he knew her culinary talents were not to be doubted. He put down the fork in frustration.

Sydney looked up, somewhat concerned. "Isn't it any good?" she asked, a little hurt.

"No, its delicious," he assured her. "I'm just feeling a…a little guilty."

Sydney raised a curious eyebrow, and swallowed the piece of melon she had just consumed. "What do you have to feel guilty about? Recently?"

He looked into those unsuspecting brown eyes and tried to imagine the anguish and disappointment that would come into them if she should ever find out what he had done to Vaughn. And he found he couldn't do it. A part of him knew that eventually Sydney would find out, but he couldn't bring himself to tell her. Especially not now that they had confessed their love to each other. He pulled her to him and kissed her forehead. "I just feel bad for having to keep you locked up in here."

"You don't though," Sydney pointed out, snuggling into his arms. "I'm allowed to go wherever I want."

"You know what I mean," Sark sighed. "You're not working. You've just had to sit around and wait for me to come home. I know that can't be easy for you."

"I'm not going to lie," Sydney admitted easily. "Sometimes it really sucked. But it doesn't matter anymore, Julian. The Guild is over. You can stay home with me. Right? Julian?"

"I think you should go home," he blurted out. He needed to get her to Vaughn before he died. Forgiveness for his deed could be worked on later. She would never forgive him if she didn't get a chance to say goodbye or apologise to her old handler.

"What?" Sydney cried. "Why do you say that? I…I thought you loved me."

"I do, I do," he said quickly. "More than life itself. But I can't ask you to share this life with me."

"I've found this life pretty satisfactory," Sydney argued. "And if you're worried about not working and me getting bored, well…I can start teaching. I've got my license. Or…I don't know…we could start our own organization! Work with the CIA or even against. I don't care, Julian. Just don't ruin what we have here."

Sark watched her distress in amazement. Even though she had told him she loved him and had showed him in more ways than one, he had never dared hope he meant as much to her as she meant to him. "All right, love, calm down," he grinned, kissing her lips softly. "You don't have to go. I just thought you might miss your friends…your old life."

"I do," she acknowledged. "But I think my place is here for now."

"What makes you so sure?" Sark asked, still not entirely willing to believe his own ears.

"Well, for starters, I highly doubt APO or the CIA is going to welcome me with open arms after I've spent close to two months on the run with the highly wanted assassin." She paused, looking down and playing with her sliced Belgium waffle with her fork. "And besides, if I went back and regained their trust, they'd never let me see you again. I don't think I could do that."

Sark pulled her lips to his greedily, passion fuelled by her innocent and compassionate confession. "I love you," he whispered against her lips after breaking the kiss.

"I love you too, Julian," she grinned.

Sark picked up his fork and returned to his eggs with renewed vigour. Suddenly they didn't taste like ash. The guilt in his stomach subsided greatly. Sydney loved him, and she wasn't willing to leave. He even managed to convince himself that knowing about Vaughn wouldn't change any of that. "Lawrence sent me a feed from surveillance tapes of the London mansion," he informed Sydney, starting in on some slices of bacon. "If you don't have anything to do this afternoon, maybe you could take a look at the ones from the main floor? It would be good to know if we could return there any time soon."

"I think I'm quite content to stay here forever," Sydney teased, looking fondly around their room. Sark had to agree with her. "But I will look at them. I'm sure the household staff would like to get back inside."

Sark spontaneously kissed her again, just because he could. Life was suddenly being very good to the cold British spy.

* * *

Sydney unlocked the door in the cellar of the basement that Sark had directed her to before he had left for town. He claimed he had a few errands to run, but Sydney suspected he was going to meet a contact to see if he could discover any more of the fall out of the Guild. Not long ago his or anyone's dishonesty might have hurt or irritated her. But recently, Sydney had begun to realize that sometimes it was just kinder to hide the truth from the people you loved. She was perfectly content not knowing.

The room she entered was fairly dark and dingy. There was a table and two desk chairs. On the table sat a small television and VCR. And piled around the table and on one of the chairs were what looked like hundreds of video tapes. Sydney let out a small groan when she realized the enormity of her task. "Trying to keep me busy, love?" she asked dryly. Resigning herself to spending at the very least the rest of the day in the cool cellar, she settled down on the empty chair and picked up a cassette at random, searching for anything that would mark it as surveillance of the main floor. It was marked _'**Mr. Julian Sark's office, 18 November- 25 November**_.'

Sydney cocked her eyebrows in interest. Unless she was mistaken, that was the week in which Sark had murdered his mentor, Ichino Chow. She had always felt that there had been something in that meeting that Sark had concealed from her. Perhaps at the time he had done so intentionally, but now that their relationship had changed so significantly, surely he wouldn't mind letting her in on what had happened that fateful afternoon. She popped the tape in, turned the television on and pressed Play.

Retrieving a remote from on top of the television, Sydney fast forwarded through long hours of the office sitting empty. Occasionally Sark would enter the room, work for a while at the desk or read a book, but most of the footage was just empty space. After a good ten minutes of fast forward, Sydney finally reached the footage she was looking for. She pressed Play again, and waited with bated breath. The conversation was in Korean, but apparently she was not the first to view the footage. Someone, probably Lawrence, had subtitled in English.

_Sark ushered Ichino through the office door and motioned for him to sit down. "How have you been, Julian?" inquired Ichino upon taking his seat. "I have been worried. It seems you spend more time in CIA custody than out."_

_Sark shrugged and offered Ichino a glass of mulled wine. "The CIA has yet to build a cell that can truly hold me."_

"_Your boasts are all very well, but it could not have been as easy as you would like me to believe," Ichino chided fondly. "How did you escape?"_

_Sark shot Ichino a rogue grin and sat down beside him. "First the CIA traded me to the Covenant. And then they made the rather grievous mistake of trusting me in the hands of only one CIA agent in the field."_

Sydney grimaced, having not entirely forgiven Sark for shooting her with a tranquiller when her back was turned. But she could not deny being almost touched by the exchange. There was clearly a great fondness between the two men. She felt a cold ice in her stomach when she remembered that in mere moments they would have turned firearms on each other. Over her, what's more. Sark had at least revealed that much- he had killed Ichino to keep her protected.

"_Yes, I have heard rumours of your daring escape from Agent Sydney Bristow," Ichino smiled almost proudly. "You are to be commended, my boy. Not many could have done it."_

"_You taught me well," Sark shrugged. "But…that brings me to the reason I brought you here. I didn't exactly escape Sydney Bristow."_

"_What do you mean?" Ichino asked sharply._

"_I brought her with me," Sark replied, trying to keep his tone light. "She's here in this very house."_

"_What? Are you mad?" exploded Ichino, eyes dark with rage. "What could have forced you to take such foolish risks? The CIA will be eager to retrieve her and they will make sure you burn in hell for your stupidity!"_

"_Don't get angry," Sark begged. "Just let me explain myself."_

"_Angry? I am not angry…I am furious!" growled Ichino. "But yes, please…attempt to explain your ridiculous actions."_

"_Sydney Bristow, I have reason to believe, is the lover of Agent Michael Vaughn," Sark said as though it explained everything. And to Ichino it seemed to have done so._

"_Who was the husband of Lauren Reed?" he asked wearily, though his face showed he needed no confirmation._

"_Exactly," nodded Sark. "Imagine his torment when he thinks of his darling girl here with me, unprotected and possibly every day edging closer to her painful death."_

"_You mean to kill her?" Ichino exclaimed, eyes very wide._

"_Well, perhaps not," conceded Sark. "My revenge will be more…complete. I intend to seduce her. Make her fall in love with me."_

"_This is madness," Ichino said hoarsely. "Even you cannot be this foolish over the loss of one of your female play things."_

"_This one was real," Sark protested, pain evident through his bad Korean accent. "I loved her."_

"_You always say that," Ichino argued, reaching for his cell phone. "Here's what we're going to do. I'll call a friend of mine, he'll come and take her. We can kill her or send her anonymously to the CIA. Just get rid of her before she is the end of you."_

"_Put down the cell phone, Ichino," Sark cautioned, reaching for his gun. "She stays here."_

Sydney couldn't take any more. She jammed the Stop button, and angrily pitched the remote away from her. Before she knew it, tears were streaming down her face. She scrubbed at them angrily. She should have known. She should have known that Sark could never actually change, and certainly not for the love of a woman he had once leapt at the chance to kill. That fucking bastard! How dare he treat her like this? How dare he break her heart?

Before she knew what she was doing, she had overturned the table the television rested on, smashing the screen beyond all repair. She sobbed dryly, unable to cope with the hurt and betrayal threatening to wash her under. So this was how Vaughn had felt when he had found out Lauren was working for the enemy. But she did not have the innocence Vaughn could claim. "Vaughn," she whimpered, covering her mouth with her hand. "Oh, Vaughn…what have I done?" Another dry sob racked her body. She had knowingly betrayed him, and slept with the enemy.

She was very tempted to slump against the wall and sit there sobbing until Sark found her. Perhaps he would have an explanation that would make everything better? She shook her head angrily, refusing to listen to the part of her that was in love with him. There could be no excuses, no apologies and certainly no forgiveness. He had used her. Used her as a petty way of revenge against Vaughn, the one man who deserved her love. She forced herself to her feet, and attempted to brush away any sign of tears. She would not shed another tear for the cruel, heartless British spy. "From now on we stick with our first impressions," she promised herself.

She tore up the stairs to the main floor and bolted for the door. She didn't stop to gather anything, lest Sark should return before she was gone. She never wanted to see him again. She only paused long enough to call for a cab. Then, unwilling to wait inside in the house that was a reminder of her stupidity, she left Sark's home for what she hoped was the last time.

Even as she stepped out into the heat of a Cuban afternoon, a black jeep pulled into the driveway. The driver killed the ignition and remained parked at the very end of the long dirt driveway. Sydney peered at it, sure that it was not a form of public transportation in Havana. The door opened and a dark-haired, light built woman jumped out. She shaded her hands and took in her surrounding with a long sweeping glance. Her gaze landed on Sydney, and her look became even grimmer. Sydney stood on the doorstep. It couldn't be. There was just absolutely no way she was here.

"Sydney!" Nadia Santos called out in a strange voice. It was an odd mix of happiness, relief and intimidation.

"Nadia!" Her half-sister's name was ripped from her throat and she was sobbing again. The sisters ran towards each other and embraced. Nadia immediately saw Sydney was upset. And while she was tempted to begin demanding answers and accusing her sister, all she did was let her older sister cry on her shoulders. "Oh, thank God you've come," Sydney cried. She pulled herself together and pushed herself to stare back at her sister's mournful expression.

"Then you found out about Vaughn?" Nadia asked, apparently surprised. "I admit, I didn't think Sark would tell you _that._ He must really love you, Syd."

"He doesn't love me," Sydney said, half-dazed. She frowned at Nadia, picking up on another crucial point of her sentences. "Found out exactly what about Vaughn?"

Nadia bit her bottom lip. "You'd better get in the jeep," she sighed. "It's not exactly the type of conversation you have outside Julian Sark's house."

Nadia turned to go back to her vehicle, but Sydney grabbed her arm. "Nadia, what's wrong with Vaughn?"

"Maybe you should ask your new boyfriend," Nadia asked, bitterness in every syllable.


	12. Unhappy Endings

**Disclaimer: **Alias belongs to JJ Abrams, ABC and the people at Bad Robot

**Rating: **R, for language and sexual themes in future chapters

**Pairing:** Sydney/Sark, suggested Sydney/Vaughn and Sark/Lauren

**Summary:** When Sydney makes the fatal mistake of trusting Sark with a gun in _Man of His Word, _Season 4, Sark takes the opportunity to revenge himself on Vaughn for Lauren's murder. However, after spending a prolonged time together, Sark and Sydney begin to develop feelings that neither of them anticipated.

**Author's Note: **An AU version of the events in _Man of His Word_. What might have happened had Sydney trusted Sark with a gun during the fight with Anna at the club.

**Chapter:** 12/14

**Chapter 12- Unhappy Endings**

The café Nadia finally stopped at was neither run-down, nor very remarkable. It was only a few blocks away from the airport in Havana. The sisters, so newly acquainted had driven into Havana in silence. Nadia had kept her eyes on the road, never once turning to look at Sydney. Sydney had made no attempt at conversation, leaning her elbow on the jeep door and gazing out mournfully at the Cuban countryside that went skimming by. She was overwhelmed by so many feelings- misery, guilt, betrayal and anxiousness to hear news of Vaughn, that she could find little joy in the reunion with her sister. Particularly not when the grim look on Nadia's face invited no conversation. Sydney began to realize perhaps Nadia had not been so understanding as she had immediately assumed. The news of Vaughn must be grim indeed if she had come to retrieve her 'traitorous' sister.

But as the dust blew in Sydney's eyes, she found she could not blame Nadia for any ill feelings towards her. She had done the one thing she had never thought herself capable- run away with the enemy. She had been able to condone her actions at the time, because she had truly believed she and Sark had found true love. Now she looked back and laughed bitterly at her own gullibility. To believe that the man who had carelessly set off a new age weapon outside a church of innocents, a man who had captured and tortured Will- the man who had played a large part in the murder of Francie! Her own stupidity was appalling. She had slammed her hand down on the outside of the car, angry with him, but more angry with herself.

Nadia asked for a table for two and the waitress, dressed in a checked red and white dress, led them to one with relative seclusion. They both ordered tea. The waitress left and they were left staring at each other. Sydney realized that there was very little of similarity between the sisters. They were both physically fit with sharp dark eyes, but the similarities ended there. As a whole, they didn't resemble each other at all. Nadia's hair was glossy and dark, while Sydney's hair was still dyed caramel blonde. Sydney had taken her looks from Irina, while Nadia features had a distinct echo of Arvin Sloane. But there was none of the coldness of her father or mother in Nadia. Despite her hard upbringing and original lack of morals, she had learned her lesson and was now faithful and dedicated to fighting the good fight.

Sydney herself had never had that dedication. She had always put her life on the line for the job and sacrificed her personal life a hundred times over. But she had always looked at it as a bothersome sacrifice and had longed for a normal job. Nadia looked at her job as a privilege and was much more content with her lot in life. Sydney rubbed her aching head. Nadia certainly hadn't thrown away the admiration of Eric Weiss away, while Sydney had been more than willing to toss away the love of Michael Vaughn. Thoughts of Vaughn reminded her there were more tales of Sark's betrayal to be heard, so she refocused on her sister's face.

"Nadia…" she began haltingly. "I can't ask for your forgiveness, namely because I don't deserve it. What I did was disgusting. I was taken in by one of the oldest tricks in the book…one that I have seen played out numerous times before. I knew exactly who Sark was, and what he was capable of, and I still fell for it. I was stupid enough to believe he could change for me."

"But you have to believe me when I say, I went in with the best of intentions. Sark _did_ kidnap me, and for many weeks I resisted and attempted to escape. But eventually, I gave away to his…charms. And I'm so sorry, you have to believe me when I say that if I could erase everything I have done I would." She hesitated, hoping Nadia would say something…anything to make the dead silence less heavy.

Nadia fixed Sydney with an unreadable look. "Your sex life doesn't concern me. At all." Her voice held a definite chill in it. It wasn't exactly the reply Sydney had been looking for. The waitress came and left their tea before conversation continued. Nadia lifted the cup, and her hands were shaking. She gave up trying to take a sip as the hot liquid spilled over the rim of her cup. She slammed the mug down on the table. "Damn it, Sydney!"

Sydney shrunk back in her seat, appalled at the emotional damage she had caused to someone she loved. "Nadia…I didn't mean…I didn't think…"

"Sydney, do you realize how worried I was? How worried Vaughn was?" she demanded, tears shining in her eyes. "And all this time, you were jaunting around the globe fucking some British asshole!"

Sydney was crying now as well. "I don't know what I was thinking," she pleaded. "I'll do anything to make it up to you, Nadia. You have to believe me the hurt I caused was never intentional."

Nadia scrubbed at her face, brushing away the remnants of tears. Sydney didn't bother, knowing there was no stopping the floodgate. "If you only knew what you've done…" she trailed off. Clearing her throat, she started again. "When Vaughn first reported you were missing, APO went mad. He stayed in Venice looking for you, until Sloane ordered him home. The next few weeks, no one at Headquarters did anything but look for you. I'll never forget how shaken Vaughn was those first weeks. He kept saying it was his fault, that he hadn't looked after you…that he wasn't a good boyfriend…hadn't loved you enough. He was so scared of losing you just after your relationship had recovered after Lauren."

"Orders came from the CIA. We were supposed to abandon the search, which technically wasn't a job for APO. Jack immediately left, saying he was 'unfit for duty.' He kept looking for you, while the rest of us were researching Sark's new organization…the Guild. For a while, there was nothing. And then Jack got a lead on Tai Ichiniwa, who led us to Sark's private residence in Austria. We tracked him first to Tuscany and then back to London. That was where we first realized you two had entered…a relationship of sorts. We obtained surveillance footage of you shopping with Sark on Notting hill. Your…conversation…led us to believe things weren't what they should be."

"Shortly after, Vaughn led a raid on the London mansion. But, I suppose Sark had gotten wind of it somehow. The house was abandoned. We did a thorough search of the house and found…" Nadia paused, looking at Sydney.

"More surveillance, I suppose?" she asked bitterly.

"Not exactly," Nadia said slowly. "Syd, why were you so upset when you saw me? I could tell you were distressed as soon as you left the house."

Sydney took a sip of tea before answering, not really wanting to admit she had been fooled just as easily as her father and Vaughn. "I found surveillance of the London house. Sark was talking to a man he told me was his mentor. He revealed to him that he was never in love with me. He was just seducing me to get revenge on Vaughn for Lauren's murder." The tears seemed to cease as she told Nadia the story briefly. At the moment she could only feel hot rage at Sark's trickery.

Nadia reached out and squeezed Sydney's hand. Sydney looked up, surprised to have Nadia's compassion. Her dark eyes were clearly hiding more secrets. "I wish that was the extent of his revenge, Syd," she said softly. "But there's more. He left behind an envelope addressed to Vaughn after you two had fled the London house. There were pictures in it…what looked like surveillance stills. Some were harmless enough out of context. The two of you swimming and cooking together. But there were a good deal of pictures that…Syd, he left behind pictures of you two having sex."

Syd let out a low moan, covering her mouth with her hand. "And Vaughn saw…?" she choked out, unable to go any further.

Nadia nodded. "And Jack. And Weiss. And me."

"Oh God," Sydney gasped, covering her face with her hands. "I'll kill that bastard."

"There's more," Nadia said, breathing irregular.

"More?" Sydney cried. "How could there be more?"

Nadia continued, her voice dull and listless. Sydney could tell the following tale of events gave her absolutely no pleasure. "After the raid in London, we lost both of your trails. Then suddenly, a few days ago, we got an anonymous call informing us that Tai Ichiniwa and Julian Sark could be found in Innsbruck, Austria. The call was untraceable, though Marshall did his damndest. We proceeded with caution, unsure if it was a trap. Jack, Eric and Dixon went into the house, Vaughn and I waited outside, ready to stop anyone trying to escape."

"The caller was right, Tai and Sark were there, as well as Igor Poladski. Eric killed Poladski, and then Tai shot Eric."

"Oh, God…is he all right?" Sydney asked, unable to deal with the possibility she had cost a dear friend his life.

"He's fine," Nadia assured her. "He's just going to be on crutches for a little while. Jack and Dixon don't have a scratch. Sark and Tai escaped out of a hidden exit, but Vaughn and I were waiting. I shot Tai and then…" Nadia stopped suddenly, unable to go on.

"Nadia, what happened then?" Sydney demanded, fear suddenly coursing through her such as she had never known.

"Sark shot Vaughn!" Nadia exploded, finally saying what she had travelled from Vienna to say. "Sydney, he's dying. If we don't leave immediately, you may never get to speak to him again."

Sydney slumped back in her chair, feeling as though Nadia had slapped her. "No," she whispered. "No, that's impossible. Sark wouldn't have…he couldn't have…"

"He would, could and did," Nadia said coldly. "He's a heartless son of a bitch, Syd. You can live in denial later. If you ever want to see Vaughn again we have to leave now."

"Where is he?" Sydney demanded, unaware of the tears streaming unchecked down her cheeks.

"The CIA hospital in Vienna," Nadia answered. "The doctors don't know how much time he has…he was already fading when I left. He's not fighting."

"Have you talked to anyone there?" Sydney demanded. "Is he still…alive?"

"I don't know," Nadia admitted. "I can call now, if you want."

"Do," Sydney nodded.

Nadia punched in the digits of Jack's cell phone. Time dragged on between rings, but finally Sydney heard the distinct sound of someone picking up. "Jack, its Nadia," Nadia said. "Yes, I have her…no, I don't know where Sark is. Oh, I don't think she cares right now…yes, of course." Nadia handed the phone to Sydney. "He wants to talk to you."

Sydney took the phone with shaking hands. "Sydney?" came the voice of her father. Tears sprang to Sydney's eyes for near the hundredth time.

"Daddy," she whimpered. "Oh God, I'm so sorry."

There was silence on the other end. Finally Jack spoke. "You have no idea how wonderful it is to hear your voice, baby."

"I've missed you so much," she sobbed. And she had, though she hadn't fully realized it until that moment. She wanted nothing more than to be wrapt in her father's arms, knowing he was going to make everything all right- like he always did. "Can you ever forgive me?"

"I think I can manage it," Jack said wryly. "But we can talk when you get here, Sydney. You are coming?"

"As soon as I can get a plane," she promised. "How is…how is Michael?"

"Better," Jack said, and his voice sounded hopeful. "He came around for a little bit. Weiss told him you were on your way, and the doctors say there was immediate approval after that. He's fighting again. But get here soon."

"I will," she swore. "I'll see you soon, Dad."

"I love you, Sydney," he said suddenly. "No matter what."

"I love you too," she sobbed, hanging up.

"So?" Nadia asked. "How…how is Vaughn?"

"Better, actually," Sydney said, taking a deep calming breath. "He was conscious for a little while. Eric told him I'm coming to Vienna."

"Well, that's good, isn't it?" Nadia grinned. "There's hope he might recover then."

"Maybe," Sydney agreed. There was a new anger in her, fighting back any despair or regret. "Look…when does the next plane leave for Austria?"

"At eight o'clock tonight," Nadia replied. "I've already got us two tickets."

"And what time is it right now?" Sydney asked.

"Three- thirty," Nadia responded.

Sydney bit her lip. "I've got plenty of time, then."

"Plenty of time for what, exactly?" Nadia asked, raising her eyebrows.

Sydney stared at her sister, trying to convey her determination. "I have to see him one more time, Nadia," she explained. "I can't ever go with closure if I don't. Can I borrow the jeep?"

Nadia struggled for a moment inwardly, then sighed in resignation. "Just make sure you come back, do you hear me?" Nadia snapped. "I'm leaving on that plane with or without you."

"Oh, trust me," Sydney said grimly, accepting the keys. "I'll be back."

She strode angrily to the jeep, thoughts swirling. Images of Vaughn and Sark seemed to swirl before her, as she cursed her stupidity and blind heart.

_Vaughn stood across from her in an abandoned warehouse she looked upon as their own personal haven. He held out an old watch she recognized he always wore on his wrist. "This watch belonged to my father. It's broken now, but it used to keep perfect time. And when he gave it to me, he said you could set your heart by this watch. It stopped October 1st. The day we met."_

_Sark paused behind her as she sat down to a private dinner in Tuscany. "You're very beautiful, Sydney," he said suddenly. "Does Agent Vaughn ever tell you that?"_

_Vaughn regarded her with heated passion in a secluded corner of CIA headquarters. "You need me to tell you what, that when you're on operations I can't sleep at night, that when we're in debrief I have to force myself to remember what the hell we're supposed to be reviewing when all I want to do is kiss you."_

_Sark slammed her down to the ground, face contorted with rage and delivered an acute insight into her character that no man had ever been able to pick out before. "Don't you dare give me that justice bullshit. You went undercover as Julia because you were angry that Michael Vaughn had lost faith in you, just like the little boy he is. You wanted revenge. Which is exactly what you wanted when you first became a double agent for the CIA- revenge for Daniel Hecht's death!"_

_Vaughn, the perfect image of a high school teacher, looked at her with eyes full of sorrow. "I was so in love with you... it nearly killed me."_

_Sark laid a hand on her bare shoulder and smirked at her reflection. "You must admit, Sydney, we do make an extremely attractive couple"_

_Vaughn took her hand as they raced towards a waiting airplane he had arranged to meet them. "Even though everything's changed... some things don't... I'm not going to lose you twice."_

_Sark pulled her into his lap, a warm smile playing on his lips. "Don't be foolish, love," he said in a whisper. "You see, I love you. Possibly more than I have ever loved anything in my entire life. Which would make it very difficult to regret you or anything about you."_

"…_when you're at lowest, just know you can call me…"_

"…_dance with me…"_

"…_in Santa Barbara…"_

"…_you changed me…"_

"…_almost killed me…"_

"…_anything in my entire life…"_

"…_guardian angel…"_

"…_how was Vaughn?"_

"…_perfectly fine. Not a scratch."_

Nadia's face broke through her reveries.

"_Sark shot Vaughn…cold, heartless son of a bitch."_

Sydney revved the engine of the jeep and took off, knowing she had very little time before she would return to Vaughn and beg for his forgiveness. She also knew she had finally made the right decision.

* * *

Sark was beginning to worry. He had returned home over an hour ago to find the house deserted. Sydney must have gone for a walk or something, he had supposed. But she had left no note or reason for her absence, meaning she had not meant to be gone long. He attempted to read a book, but his worry was beginning to eat away at him. He checked the phone for messages for the third time, and found none. Having a sudden brainwave, he checked to see who the last caller had been. _Micanglo's Taxi Service_. Which made no sense at all and had probably been a wrong number.

He searched the house once more, thinking perhaps she had curled up in a corner somewhere and fallen asleep. He found nothing though. Their bed was made and all of her clothes and things were just as he had last seen them. He began to toy with the idea of taking a walk down the beach in hopes of meeting up with her, when he heard the front door open. "Julian?" called the sweet tones of the woman he had grown to love. He felt a foolish grin paint his face and hurried downstairs to meet her.

"Up here," he called down, rushing down the stairs. Sydney was standing in the front hall, dressed in black jeans and a yellow tank top that accented her athletic figure. She was wearing Birkenstocks and her blonde hair was up in a ponytail. But for the first time in quite a while, Sydney's beauty was not what took his breath away. It was the fact that she was holding a gun and it was pointed directly at him.

"Hey, honey," she said, her voice falsely cheerful. Before he could establish anything else, she pulled the trigger. He dived to the ground, narrowly missing being shot in the face.

She let out a scream of frustration and chucked the gun away from her. "What the hell was that?" Sark demanded, struggling to his feet.

Sydney let out another shout of anger and kicked him in the stomach, sending him flying into the wall. "You are quite possibly the worst piece of shit I have ever had the misfortune of making love to. And that includes Simon Walker."

"What the hell are you talking about?" Sark demanded, though a deep pit of guilt in his stomach was quickly giving him a good guess.

"Did you honestly think I wouldn't ever find out?" she shouted. "Did you think I was stupid? Listen to me, you arrogant ass. Lauren Reed was a filthy little whore who only ever made love with you to further her position in life! Did you actually think she could care for you? Or any man? Maybe I shouldn't point fingers though, I was the one who thought a scum of the earth like you was capable of caring about me!"

Sark got to his feet, desperately trying to cling to the pieces of his life that were falling apart. "Syd…"

"Don't call me Syd, _Julian,"_ she hissed. "You and I are not friends, and certainly not lovers anymore. You can address me as Agent Bristow, though to tell the truth, I'd much rather you didn't address me at all."

She walked over to the gun and picked it up. She tossed it up in the air, catching it easily. Then she turned it on Sark and refocused her aim. "Did you actually think that if you dared to use me as a means of revenge on Michael Vaughn, that I wouldn't kill you when I found out?"

Her finger inched towards the trigger, and Sark couldn't help but dryly noticing this was the fulfillment of all his worst nightmares. Perhaps it was no more than he deserved, but he had to fight. It was second nature to him. "Syd…Agent Bristow…I'm not going to lie. This whole thing started out as a way to get revenge, but it's all changed. I love you and I always will. You changed me, you've made me a better person. Please don't throw away this amazing thing we have."

"How long have you loved me?" she demanded. "Did it start around the time you were leaving pictures of us having sex for my boyfriend and father to find? Or was it right from the very first time you shot me when my back was turned?"

"If I could take back those pictures, I would," Sark said, trying to get across his earnestness. "It was the stupidest, most ridiculous thing I've ever done."

"No, not exactly," Sydney growled. "I could think of a few more." She tossed the gun down for the second time, clearly unable to shoot him just yet. "God, how could I have been so stupid? How exactly did you convince me you'd changed?"

"Because I have!" Sark insisted. "You were too good to fool, Syd. It wasn't until I truly started to want you for my own, that the charms started working on you. You wouldn't have believed I loved you unless I did. And I do. I love you with all my heart."

Sydney laughed bitterly. "If you think great declarations of love are what I came here for, I should let you know we're a little beyond that bit."

"I'll give you what you came for," Sark promised.

"Really?" Sydney questioned. "And what…do you think…I came here for?"

"An explanation," he answered. "And perhaps proof that I earnestly love you."

"I don't want an explanation," Sydney countered. "I don't give a damn why you did it. And I don't want your love, so you don't need to bother trying to prove it. I came here to kill you, but since I seem unable to pull that god damn trigger…"

"Maybe you can't pull it, because you're still in love with me," Sark leapt on her weakness.

"Or maybe I just don't like killing people," Sydney suggested dryly. "Even if they deserve it." She sighed. "What ever made me think that you were preferable to Vaughn, is the only question I have right now."

"Vaughn?" scoffed Sark. "That man was just a little boy, who was never good enough for you! A life with him wouldn't have suited you at all. He only ever loved the Sydney he created, not Sydney Bristow with her faults and flaws. He's a pretty boy whose uses were few and skill was seriously lacking."

"STOP TALKING ABOUT HIM IN PAST TENSE!" Sydney exploded. "Despite your _admirable_ attempts, Vaughn's alive."

"Oh," Sark said, dimly aware that there was now no saving the situation. "Found out about that, did you?" He found himself unable to look at Sydney, shame coursing through him.

"Yeah, yeah, I did," she said, and her voice was suddenly thick. "I can't believe I ever trusted you, Sark."

"Is he going to live?" Sark asked, wishing now only to cause her as little pain as possible. His eyes remained closely on the floor.

"I don't know," Sydney answered, anger fading from her voice. "I'm going to him as soon as I leave here."

"Of course," Sark nodded, hoping to disguise some bitterness from his tone. "I hope…I hope he lives. I never wanted to shoot him…and certainly never had any desire to kill him. That would have hurt you too much for me to bear."

Sydney let out a dry chuckle. "The rest I might have been persuaded to forgive you," she said, voice hollow. "But never this. Never this."

Sark risked a look up and found her gazing remorsefully out their kitchen window. His kitchen window, now. She looked at him, a twisted smile on her lips. "I changed everything about myself for you. My morals, my lifestyle…even my fucking hair colour. And the really…really twisted bit is, that a part of me is still in love with you. And I think that's why I hate you the most."

Sark got to his feet. "I…I hope you two will be happy together," he said softly, walking over to her. "If he survives, that is."

He knew he shouldn't have added that last bit. Her eyes flared up again. "We will be," she promised darkly. "As long as I never have to see you again." She turned sharply on her heel and strode for the door. Sark waited until he heard it bang behind her before following. He wrenched the door open in time to see her jump behind the driver's wheel of a black jeep. She revved the engine and did a large wheelie in the driveway, before tearing off. He got one last sight of her blonde hair- as fake as their entire life had been together- and then she was gone.

He slipped back inside and closed the door behind him. There was a hollow ache in his heart and waves of sorrow were washing him under. There was also a large sense of catharsis. Everything, he supposed, had been put back right in the world, again. The hero and heroine reunited in their happy ever after, and the villain, alone and broken hearted on his own. Before he could fully realize what was happening to him, he had slumped down against the door and was sobbing in his hands, unable to deal with the loss of the woman he had come to love more than life itself.

* * *

Nadia paced the airport lobby ceaselessly, not caring about the looks she was drawing from her fellow passengers. Sydney had been gone for quite some time, and they were supposed to be boarding the plane in ten minutes. She hoped fervently that Sydney had remained strong. If Sark had managed to charm her once more, she would have to return to their hopeful friends and relations with crushing news. The second loss of Sydney would be too much for Vaughn in his critical condition. Nadia suppressed a frustrated shout, and forced herself to sit down.

She couldn't believe the change that had come over Sydney, and not just her blonde hair. Her sister was ravaged by grief and betrayal. She had always admired Sydney for her strength of will and determination, but in the hour or so they had spent over tea, she had seen her sister looking weaker than she could ever have imagined possible. She fully realized now the fact that Sydney was truly in love with Sark, whatever his own feelings had been. Nadia couldn't help but wonder if Sydney could actually go back to Vaughn…if indeed, he would accept her.

It was not her only question. Two more thoughts were plaguing her mind. First off, was how wrong she had been about Sark's body image in the surveillance photos. He must be a true master of the craft of deception. She would have sworn that Sark was every bit in love with Sydney as she was clearly with him. Nadia had once prided herself on being able to read all humans easily enough. Apparently from now on, she would have to be slower to make a final judgement. The second question, the more relevant of the two, was who had made the call to tip the CIA off about the location of Sark? Although anonymousness calls were nothing out of the ordinary, those with such excellent results definitely were. Who was the mysterious person with such a grudge to Sark? Clearly he or she had to be close to the spy to know his movements and private residences. Where were they now?

"Nadia!" called a voice she would recognize anywhere. She stood and scanned the airport, looking for Sydney. She didn't notice her sister until she was directly in front of her. The blonde hair was gone. Clearly in her prolonged absence, Sydney had reverted back to her brunette roots. She was also more cheerful than Nadia had seen her from some time, wearing a smile. It was not a large smile, but for now it would do.

"Nice hair," Nadia smiled, reaching out to take a brown strand between her fingers.

Sydney's grin widened. "You know, au contraire to popular belief, blondes really _don't_ have more fun!"

Nadia laughed, but quickly grew serious again. "Did you see Sark?"

"Yes," Sydney nodded shortly. "I really don't want to talk about it. All that matters is that it's completely finished."

"Are you sure?" Nadia asked suspiciously.

"More sure than I have ever been of anything," Sydney confirmed. Nadia couldn't help but notice Sydney's smile no longer reached her soulful brown eyes.

"_All passengers boarding Havana, Cuba to Vienna, Austria , please board at Gate 2 immediately,"_ a crackling voice over the PA system requested.

"Good timing," Nadia observed.

"I know," Sydney smiled, looping her arm through her sister's. They made their way towards Gate 2. Sydney did not look back once, though Nadia did. She met eyes with a young blonde man she knew only too well. He had clearly just rushed into the airport and was looking in angst at Sydney's retreating back. He opened his mouth, but then caught Nadia's eye. She fixed him with a glare that left him speechless. He lowered his arm and settled for watching Sydney walk away.

"What are you looking at?" Sydney asked, as she handed her ticket to an attendant.

"Absolutely nothing," Nadia smiled brightly.

* * *

AN: Two more chapters to go, kiddies. Next up is a Sydney/Vaughn chapter without our dearly beloved Mr. Sark. 


	13. Charades

**Disclaimer: **Alias belongs to JJ Abrams, ABC and the people at Bad Robot

**Rating: **R, for language and sexual themes in future chapters

**Pairing:** Sydney/Sark, suggested Sydney/Vaughn and Sark/Lauren

**Summary:** When Sydney makes the fatal mistake of trusting Sark with a gun in _Man of His Word, _Season 4, Sark takes the opportunity to revenge himself on Vaughn for Lauren's murder. However, after spending a prolonged time together, Sark and Sydney begin to develop feelings that neither of them anticipated.

**Author's Note: **An AU version of the events in _Man of His Word_. What might have happened had Sydney trusted Sark with a gun during the fight with Anna at the club.

**Chapter:** 13/14

**Chapter 13- Charades**

**Vienna**

It seemed to Vaughn that he had wallowed in darkness for an eternity. But slowly, very slowly, he was drifting back to a soft and beckoning light. The glow floated just above his head and he wanted desperately to reach it. He couldn't remember ever wanting anything as much as he wanted to reach the light. He tried to lift his arm to grasp it, but his limbs were heavy and he couldn't find the strength to bring the arm off of the bed he was laying on. Bed? Where had that thought come from? His vision spun and he was looking at a blonde man who was pulling a gun. The thought occurred to him dimly that he really should get out of the way. There was the sound of a gun going off and he became aware of an aching pain in his belly.

And then he was opening his eyes, conscious to the world for the only the second time in several days. His breath quickened and grew stronger. He couldn't lift his head from the pillow it was resting on, but his green eyes darted around, his instincts kicking in and forcing him to take in his surroundings. He assumed he was in a hospital room, judging by the whiteness of the walls and the wires hooked into his arms. There was a television on in the room and all voices coming from it were German. Then he must still be in Austria. His left hand fumbled along his stomach and found the bullet wound Sark had inflicted on him. It hurt like hell, but unless he was mistaken, it had been far worse and could now only get better.

There was the slow, low breath of someone who was breathing to his right. He rolled his head as much as he could to try and discern the identity of his companion. His breath caught at his eyes fell on the slumbering woman in the chair by his bed. Sydney Bristow was with him. He left out a long exhale in relief. She was dressed in black jeans and a yellow tank top that looked as though they had suffered a lot of ware. Her hair was no longer the caramel blonde of the woman in the photos with Sark, but back to her rich brunette. Her hair looked freshly washed and was tucked behind her ears. He felt a longing desire to twirl one of the brown strands around a finger. He reached out hopefully, but came up short.

His movement alerted the light sleeper, and her eyes shot open, giving him the chance to look into the deep brown eyes he had begun to fear he would never see again. Seeing him awake, those eyes filled with tears, though Sydney managed to give him a watery smile. "Vaughn," she whispered in a breathy voice.

"Hey," he said. A pregnant silence fell between them, and Vaughn felt all the hurt and betrayal come flooding back to him. This woman, the wonderful woman he had wanted to spend the rest of his life with, had betrayed him in order to sleep with the enemy. One part of him wanted to shout at her until she broke down into tears, while the other part of him wanted nothing more than to kiss her. Sydney still held _that_ power over him, at least.

Sydney rushed into the silence. "Vaughn, I'm so sorry," she said swiftly, her voice choking with emotion. There were tears in her eyes. "You must hate me, and I couldn't say I would blame you. I was stupid and hurtful, and just completely disregarded every, wonderful thing we had. I know that we can't go back to where we were, and I don't think we should even try. For one, I don't deserve that courtesy." The tears were now slipping down her cheeks, and it was enough to break Vaughn's heart. "I was…I was so stupid and confused. Somehow he made me think that what we…you and I…had wasn't love, but infatuation. And, I hate to think, that maybe a part of me was still angry about Lauren. But God, it doesn't matter. All that matters is that I am going to spend the rest of my life making it up to you. Please don't be angry forever."

She ended in a huge rush of words, realizing perhaps that she had started to blabber on with little point. She bowed her head, unable to meet the betrayed green eyes looking out of the face she had once thought the most handsome in the world. "Come here," Vaughn said, hoarsely, reaching out for her.

She obeyed quickly, coming to sit with him on the bed. One of his hands reached up to cup her face, while the other grasped her hands in her lap. He paused before answering, allowing himself to run his hands through her dark, damp hair. "I'm not angry," he finally said, forcing her chin up so she would look at him. "I'm not saying I wasn't…believe me, I was pretty furious at one point. But now, despite everything…I'm just happy to have you back."

A weak smile lit Sydney's face. "Did you leave him?" Vaughn couldn't help answer. "Why did you come back?"

Sydney bit her lip, and leaned into Vaughn's hand, taking some comfort from it. "Nadia found me and told me that you were dying. And I realized that, my place was here with you."

Vaughn grinned. "I've really missed you, Syd," he said softly. "And I'm glad you're back."

Sydney licked her lips, but then replied, almost so prompt Vaughn didn't question her earnestness. "Me too," she agreed. "But, you had better get some sleep…natural that is. The doctors would likely kill me if they knew I was keeping you from your rest." She leaned over and kissed his cheek swiftly, then stood and made her way to the door.

"Syd?" Vaughn called her back. She turned at the door.

"What is it?"

"You'll still be here when I wake up, right?"

"Of course, silly," she smiled. "I'm here for good."

Vaughn laid back in the bed, content for the first time in months.

* * *

Vaughn's recovery was swift and the doctors were impressed. In little over a week, they agreed that he was well enough to be transferred back to Los Angeles. During that week, Nadia, Weiss and Dixon had all travelled back, leaving Sydney and Jack to accompany Vaughn back when he was ready. On the morning of their departure, Sydney and Jack hired a car to take them first to the hospital and then to Vienna International Airport. Jack and Sydney had used the week to make amends in their father-daughter relationship. For the first time Sydney had felt the terrible feeling of having her father disappointed in her. It was more than enough to halt any wandering thoughts of returning to Sark.

"I expect you're looking forward to heading back home," Jack observed, pulling out of the CIA safe house.

"I'm looking forward to seeing my apartment and Marshall and everyone," Sydney agreed. "But I doubt my first couple days back are going to be all that amazing. Full of debriefs and psyche evaluations. Not that I don't deserve it."

Jack glanced over at her. "Actually, you shouldn't be too hard-pressed. The CIA was not ever aware that you had entered a relationship with Sark. You only have to convince Sloane your intentions were pure."

"Oh, great," Sydney moaned. "Closeted up with Arvin Sloane for hours on end." She paused, watching the Austrian townhouses fly by. "Actually, I think perhaps that is a very just punishment. Better than anything I would have contrived."

"I don't think you need to punish yourself any longer," Jack said, haltingly. "I think the guilt you feel now is punishment enough. I truly understand what you're feeling, Sydney. Finding out the truth about your mother was the most reeling, awful experience I have ever been through. I would never put anyone through the despair of finding a person they loved was betraying them all along."

"Dad, don't try and comfort me," Sydney said wearily. "I don't deserve it. Unlike you, I knew exactly what Sark was. I still don't understand how I could have been so blind!"

"I knew what your mother was," Jack said unexpectedly. "Or…at least the second time."

"Second time?" Sydney's eyebrows sky-rocketed. "What second time?"

Jack's cheek appeared tinged a very soft red. "Just before your mother escaped CIA custody…while we were travelling together. We had a slight lapse back into our relationship as man and wife. Love can be…a little blinding at times."

"Apparently," nodded Sydney. She found her thoughts suddenly on her dead mother. "I really think she loved you, Dad. I mean, despite everything, a part of her truly cared for you and thought of you as her husband."

"Perhaps," Jack thought. There was a pain in his eyes, and Sydney realized he was reliving the pain of killing the woman he loved to protect his daughter. Impulsively, Sydney reached out a hand and squeezed her father's arm.

"I love you," she said simply when he shot her a questioning gaze. A smile softened his usually hard and impenetrable facial expressions. They pulled into the hospital parking lot, and saw Vaughn was already waiting for them outside the front doors. He was sitting in a wheel chair, with an attendant waiting patiently behind him. Vaughn saw them and raised his hand in greeting.

Sydney returned it and waved. Her pace did not increase in the least. Jack shot her a questioning glance that she didn't return. "Michael Vaughn has become a good man," he said suddenly.

"He always was a good man," Sydney said quickly. "You just never wanted to see it."

"Not so," denied Jack. "I just continually wonder if he's the man for you."

Sydney said nothing, so Jack continued. "Love may be blind, Sydney. But the one thing your mother taught me is that no matter how awful the person is, and what terrible things they do, that love will not and cannot be ignored."

"Yes, it can," Sydney said harshly under her breath as they drew closer to Vaughn. "I will conquer this. I will."

Jack watched his daughter's reunion with Agent Vaughn silently, feeling pity for all three lovers, even the cold British spy who was somewhere alone in the world. "Ready to get home?" Sydney asked Vaughn, who had managed to get himself out of the wheel chair. The attendant bid them good day and returned to the hospital.

"Definitely," Vaughn nodded. "I can't wait to have a home cooked meal. Or even a warmed up Hungry Man. Austrian hospital food, I am sad to report, is actually worse than hospital food in America."

"Impossible!" Sydney gasped in mock horror.

"No, no," Vaughn disagreed. "I'm French…I never lie about food, women or wine."

Sydney looped her arm through one of Vaughn's amiably. "Well, I'll tell you what. When we get home, I'll make you roast beef, mashed potatoes and whatever vegetable you'd like. If you can wait until after Sloane's interrogation."

"I'd wait forever," Vaughn said softly, trying to steer the playful conversation to more serious matters suddenly.

"Well, that's exactly how long you might have to, unless Sloane has changed a good deal since I left," Sydney continued breezily. She ducked into the car, letting go of Vaughn's arm. He sighed, and met eyes with Jack across the roof of the government issued black car. Jack could not help shrugging in sympathy, before opening the driver's side door.

**Los Angeles**

_Two Months Later_

"Good morning, Nadia, Sydney," greeted Arvin Sloane as they entered the modern-decorated APO conference room on a Friday in February. Jack and Marshall Flinkman were already there, waiting for the rest of the co-workers to begin the daily meeting to discuss the world at large and their current or upcoming projects.

Two months had passed relatively swiftly since Sydney had returned to Vaughn in Vienna. Life had fallen almost back to the pace it had once retained before the grievous mission with Sark. Nadia and Sydney were still living together in Sydney's apartment. Weiss, now sans crutches, made an excellent neighbour and was very often over for dinner, staying late with his girlfriend. More than once, Sydney had woken up to find Weiss had not managed to leave during the night. Vaughn was also a frequent visitor. He had managed a full recovery. Sydney and he had made no attempt at rekindling their relationship, though not for lack of desire on his behalf. He was patient though, and reminded himself they had all the time in the world. Which did not make him any less giddy at the thought of their private dinner date that evening.

Vaughn exchanged smiles with Sydney as he entered the conference room with Eric. Unlike Vaughn, Sydney was not looking forward to the evening. Her nerves were jumping up and down in a way they never had around Vaughn before. She quickly averted her eyes, engaging Nadia in a conversation going over the finer details of their last mission to Denmark. Sydney had easily regained the trust of Arvin Sloane and had returned to duty little less than a week after returning to Los Angeles. She and Nadia were becoming quite the team and rarely let APO down. In fact, everyone at headquarters seemed eager to put the past behind and continue on as though it had never happened. Sydney grinned widely as her dearest friend and old partner, Dixon entered. He was still as handsome and gentle as ever, and had not altered in his affections towards the younger agent one iota. He came and sat on her other side now, apologizing softly for his tardiness.

Yes, life was going well for Sydney. She had excellent friends, a new understanding with her father, the regained trust of her boss and a promising relationship with Michael Vaughn. She should have been perfectly happy, but it didn't take a CIA analyst to tell something was eating up inside of Sydney. She hadn't exactly admitted it out loud to herself or anyone else, but her thoughts continued drifting back to the spy she had left behind. She hadn't forgiven him for what he had done to her, but she was continuously running over his last words to her over and over again in her mind. "_I love you and I always will. You changed me, you've made me a better person. Please don't throw away this amazing thing we have."_ Somehow, now back in LA with everything reverted back to the way it was, she wasn't entirely sure she had made the right decision.

The voice of Arvin Sloane intervened on her private thoughts. "The news I have for all of you today may bring forward…certain passions and emotions that are better left deeply buried. I have requested the case to be shunted to another department, but Director Chase is adamant it is a matter for Authorized Personnel Only division. That being said, I would ask that you all please save all emotional outbursts until I'm finished." He shot a piercing glance at Vaughn, but was clearly avoiding any eye contact with Sydney. She glanced over at Jack and noticed his face was decidedly grim. A tingling feeling of anticipation that she could not explain suddenly fluttered in her stomach.

Sloane pointed a small remote to the flat screened television on the wall opposite the table. The image of a man Sydney had wished she would never see again, flicked into life. Sark was waiting to cross a street that looked as though it was situated in Brighton, England. He had a cell phone to one ear and looked just as ravishingly handsome as Sydney remembered. She glanced down quickly at the table, hoping to block out the image. Unfortunately, the image had spread to all of the computers sitting around the table, so her eyes were accosted there as well. The reactions of her coworkers had been as predictable as one might think. Jack had grown only more grimmer, while Dixon's dark forehead was wrinkled with troubled thoughts. Nadia had laid a comforting hand on Sydney's arm, though Sydney could find no comfort in the contact. Marshall had let out what could almost be described as a whimper and Vaughn had crackled his knuckles under the table. Weiss let out a low hiss of air that did nothing to ease the stifling tension.

Sloane, the only one who made no noticeable reaction, continued on his cool voice. "Mr. Julian Sark, as most of you are aware, has been one of our most important targets for the past four months. Yesterday, one of my contacts in Brighton took this picture of Mr. Sark. They also continued to track him, giving his position to M15. Last night, a group of M15 agents invaded the hotel Mr. Sark was staying in. Details are still cloudy, but we do know that two M15 agents were killed and Sark received a wound that the team leader thought could be serious. Nevertheless, Mr. Sark managed to escape through a laundry chute and is still considered to be at large."

"Do we know where he went after that?" Dixon inquired, taking notes on a pad of paper he had taken to carrying around in his breast pocket after his time as Director at Langley.

"No," Sloane admitted. "And that is the task Director Chase has assigned to us. She says all our resources must be bent on finding and exterminating him."

"What exactly do you mean by exterminating?" Sydney asked before she could stop herself.

Sloane shot her a wry look before answering in an extremely dry voice. "Coming from the verb 'exterminate,' it means to terminate, to eradicate or to utterly destroy. I believe its Latin based stemming from '_termino,_' to remove."

Cold fury seething in her stomach, Sydney tossed her pen down on the desk and stalked out of the conference room as Sloane continued his definition of exterminate. She fought back angry tears and didn't bother to resist slamming the door behind her. "So much for saving emotional outbursts until I was finished," Sloane remarked dryly.

"You are a cold-hearted son of a bitch, you know that?" Vaughn snarled. "She didn't deserve that. You know it's a touchy subject with her."

"Thank you for that…interesting and no doubt valid opinion, Agent Vaughn," Sloane snapped. "I would have thought the subject would be far more touchy to you, than to your young lover. Unless you've managed to lose her to another man again?"

Vaughn sat back in his seat, blown away by the coldness of Sloane's retorts and realizing he was sparring with his boss in defence of _Sark_ of all people. "Thank you," Sloane said coldly. "Now, moving on."

* * *

The doorbell rang, taking Sydney out of her reverie. She had been sitting on her bed, staring listlessly at her bedroom wall for the first time in two months letting her thoughts dwell unchecked on Sark. As hard as she had tried to forget him, she had only ended up missing him more than she thought possible. Her heart ached at the thought of him hunted down like a dog by the CIA…by her friends and family. Nadia had called about forty-five minutes ago, explaining that she was working late. Not for the first time was Sydney grateful that her sister understood the occasional need to solitude.

She was thankful for the unexpected visitor though. Solitude had lost its comfort and now she only wanted spirited company to get her mind off her despair. "Coming!" she called out, rushing to the door.

She pulled it open to reveal Vaughn, smiling warmly at her. He was carrying a bag of steaming delivery food in one hand and bouquet of lilies in the other. "Flowers to make you smile," he offered her the beautiful bouquet. "And Chinese food to make you forget everything that bothers you."

Sydney felt her heart melt and she couldn't help but smile. "Oh, Vaughn, they're beautiful." She took the flowers and breathed in their heady scent. "Lilies are…"

"…your favourites," he finished. "I know. Can I come in?"

"Oh, yeah, of course," Sydney nodded, opening the door wider. "Nadia's still at the office."

Vaughn made his way to the kitchen and began to pull out cartons of Chinese food. "I figured after a day like that, you'd much rather eat in than face the world just yet."

"You know me far too well," Sydney agreed, finding a vase in one of the kitchen counters. She placed the lilies inside and filled it with water. "And I can't get over how beautiful these flowers are."

Vaughn paused from dishing out the Chinese food on two separate plates. Sydney saw he had filled her plate with all her favourites, remembering she couldn't stand egg rolls. "Just like you," he observed softly.

Sydney blushed and tried to laugh off the earnest compliment and lighten the mood. "Stop it, you're making me blush," she grinned. She placed the lilies on the dining room table, before setting the table. The sun had set a while ago, so she lit a few candles, rather than have the glaring overhead light. "Nadia bought a nice red wine last night. I'll just go grab it."

She made her way to her the bar in the living room and paused just out of Vaughn's sight, leaning against the wall. She couldn't take it if he used this evening to try romancing her. Right now, all she needed was a friend. She took a deep breath and grabbed the red wine, hoping her old handler was wise enough to see that.

"Welcome back," Vaughn greeted as she returned.

She gestured with the bottle. "You know where the glasses are?" He nodded and brought over two glasses to the table. She poured and they settled down to dinner. Vaughn had brought chop sticks, knowing Sydney would eat Chinese food no other way. She did so deftly, eagerly chewing on fried rice. Vaughn was managing his chop sticks quite poorly. He attempted to spear an egg roll and it got it half way to his mouth before it tumbled into his lap. He scooped it out, clearly hoping Sydney hadn't seen. She snorted, giving away her lack of oblivion.

"Oh, shut up," he growled.

"Not the most cultured man, are we?" she teased lightly.

"Maybe not in Eastern customs," Vaughn admitted, after a successful go at the egg roll. "I should have made you French food."

"I wouldn't have eaten your cooking," Sydney promised him.

"I seem to remember a certain burnt roast you managed to pull off," Vaughn reminded her.

"That was not my fault!" Sydney protested. Nadia, Eric, Vaughn and she had all had a little too much to drink and Sydney had temporarily forgotten the roast she had been cooking to make things up to Vaughn.

"You still haven't made me that dinner," Vaughn chided.

"Keep it up like this and you won't get it," warned Sydney.

"I'll be good," Vaughn promised, raising his hand in a salute. "Boy Scout's Honour."

Sydney broke into laughter, and Vaughn couldn't help but stare back at her hungrily. Her brown hair was pulled into a messy bun, leaving strands framing her face. Her brown eyes were sparkling in the candlelight. He could almost pretend that Sark had never happened, that Lauren had never happened. For that one moment they were back, just after the downfall of the Alliance where it seemed a sure thing that they were heading for happily ever after.

As Vaughn had lost himself in happy thoughts, Sydney's laughter had died down and she had noticed Vaughn's stare, which left her in no doubt of his feelings towards her. She only wished that she could return them just as strongly. There was a part of her that might be a little in love with Vaughn, but at the moment, after such strong reflections on Sark, she couldn't even entertain the thought of moving on. "Stop looking at me like that," she begged.

"I can't help it," Vaughn said softly. He reached across the small table and caught Sydney's hand in his own. "I've been trying to move slowly. I know you need time…that we both need time…but I can't go on without saying anything. I'm in love with you, Syd. I always have been and I always will be. It's been two months…can't we…couldn't you even think about it? I don't care about Sark anymore…it's all in the past to me."

"This isn't just about Sark, Vaughn," Sydney sighed deeply. She withdrew her hand. "Things were hardly perfect before I was kidnapped. This is about the two of us and where we are. We both know its not where we were. Lauren effectively ruined that relationship. I'm not sure we'll ever be able to get back there…or if we should even try."

"This is about Lauren?' Vaughn said, eyes growing hard. "Sydney, I have been trying to make amendments from that almost since the very day you came back. I never loved her, I was just trying to get over you. I thought you were dead."

"You married her, Michael," she said bitterly. "You were clearly at least a little in love with you."

"We've been over this, Syd," he growled. "I was dying without you. I had to move on or it would have been the end of me. Besides, this isn't about Lauren anymore."

"I know it isn't about Lauren!" Sydney burst out. "I don't know what its about." She paused. "No, that's not right. I know exactly what its about."

"Well, I would really appreciate being let in on that little tidbit of information," Vaughn snarled.

"You say you don't care about Sark, that is all in the past to you," Sydney said softly. "And that might be true, I don't know. The thing is…it's not my past yet. I haven't moved on yet, Vaughn. I thought I could, but now I'm not sure anymore."

"You're still in love with him?" Vaughn exclaimed, eyes widening in shock and anger.

"I didn't say that," Sydney quickly corrected. "I just said…well, what I meant to say…is that I need more time."

"Well, how much more time?" Vaughn demanded.

"I don't know," shrugged Sydney. "He meant a lot of me. And even after all he did and all that's happened…I realized today that he still does. Despite my wishes."

Vaughn covered his mouth with his hand. "I don't believe it," he said hollowly. "I don't think I have ever heard such complete bullshit."

"Excuse me, I'd appreciate it if you didn't just assume I'm making it up," Sydney said, her own anger rising. "Maybe you're capable of just _deciding_ to move on, but some of us need time and patience from our loved ones."

"Don't you dare belittle my feelings for you!" snapped Vaughn, standing up. "You have no idea what it feels like to see someone you love buried and know you're never going to have the opportunity to tell that person you wanted to spend every day of your life with them."

"I know exactly how that feels!" Sydney shouted, rising as well. "In case you've forgotten, I discovered my fiancé dead in our bathtub! And it took me a hell of a long time to move on, even though I, unlike you, had the proof of a body!"

Vaughn's face contorted in rage. "I don't have to listen to this," he said coldly. He pushed back his chair and head for the door. He opened it, shrugging on his jacket. "Call me when the girl I fell in love with decides to come back!"

"This is the real Sydney," Sydney said, staring down at the half-eaten food. "You just never wanted to see her."

Vaughn made no reply, just leaving and slamming the door shut. Sydney sunk down into her chair and covered her eyes with her hands, sobbing despite her best attempts to hold herself together.

* * *

Nadia shut down her computer and shrugged into her jacket. She pulled her pony tail out of her collar and gathered her briefcase. She was wearier than she should have been, though that could have been emotional weariness. Supporting Sydney had hardly been a piece of cake the last couple months. Her older sister had made a very good show of contentment, but when the lights turned off in their apartment, it was Nadia who could overhear her tossing in her sleep and occasionally crying out 'Julian!' And after this morning's outburst she wasn't expecting to return home to a happy Sydney. She had overheard Vaughn mentioning to Eric that he intended to head over and try and cheer Sydney up. Nadia only hoped that he had been successful.

She gathered her time card and punched out. She headed for the concealed entrance to APO, hoping she was facing a long subway ride. She had just reached the part of the hallway that became piping and unfinished, when a somewhat flustered voice called after her. "Miss Sloane…Miss Santos…Nadia!"

She turned to see Marshall Flinkman hurrying after her, clutching a file to his chest. He halted, breathing heavily. "What is it, Marshall?" she asked sweetly. She had a very special place in her heart for the bumbling head of Op Tech at APO.

"Its just…well…you know how you asked me to keep working on cracking the protection on that call…the call that tipped us off to Sark being at the Austrian mansion?"

"Yes," nodded Nadia, encouraging him to continue.

"I've been working on it…not as much as I could have been, which is why its taken me such a ridiculously long time…I'm quite a busy man, what with raising little Mitchell and helping save the world…not that Carrie will listen to that excuse any more if I'm not home promptly on Thursdays so she can head out on her girls night….have I showed you the latest Mitchell pictures? He's growing up so fast…and so smart just like his…"

"Marshall, the phone call?" prompted Nadia, not quite as amused with his harmless babble as was usually the case.

"Oh, right!" he grinned, still looking excited. "Well, I've cracked it. And it was no little task…he's a crafty one. See, he sent the call out to several satellites and then mirrored the signal to several different phone booths all over the world…but I already knew it was a cell phone that made the call. So I had to track every signal until I came to the one that was a cell phone. I mean, the man's a genius…and that's coming from me. It's no wonder he eluded you so long, no offence, of course."

"Who made the call, Marshall?" Nadia finally snapped, quickly losing her patience.

"Well…that's why it's so odd," frowned Marshall.

"Why is it odd?" Nadia inquired through gritted teeth.

"The call came from the mansion in Innsbruck," Marshall explained. "From the cell phone we know to be in the possession of Mr. Sark."

Nadia's eyes, narrowed in impatience, flew open wide. "Excuse me?"

* * *

The key in the lock made Sydney's head turn from the television. She was watching BBC's adaptation of _Pride and Prejudice_ and for perhaps the first time, finding no pleasure in the attractiveness of Colin Firth. "Hey," Nadia greeted softly. She laid her briefcase and a grocery bag on the table and shrugged out of her coat.

"Hi," Sydney said, unable to force any semblance of happiness into her voice.

"Is Vaughn gone?" Nadia inquired innocently enough.

"Oh, yes," Sydney laughed bitterly. "I think he'll be gone for quite some time."

"Do I want to know?" Nadia inquired, exiting to her room. Sydney could hear her dresser draws open and knew her sister was changing into something more comfortable.

"Probably not," Sydney answered in a raised voice to reach her sister. "I just think its safe to say Vaughn and I will not be resuming a romantic relationship any time soon."

"And does that upset you?" Nadia asked, coming out dressed in sweatpants and a baggy tee-shirt. She rummaged around the grocery bag, clunking around in the kitchen.

"Not as much as it should," Sydney replied dryly, her eyes watching Elizabeth Bennet and Mr. Darcy engage in their first, infamous dance.

Nadia came over to the couch and handed Sydney a pint of coffee flavoured ice cream and a large spoon. "Figured you'd need this after a day like the one you've had."

"You have no idea," Sydney agreed, shovelling a huge spoonful into her mouth.

"What's this?" Nadia asked, opening her own pint of vanilla raspberry smoothie.

"Please tell me you're joking!" Sydney gasped. "This is Pride and Prejudice…tell me you watched this like all proper women in 1995."

"Nope," Nadia admitted, sucking away happily on her spoonful. "Who's the guy she's dancing with?"

"Mr. Fitzwilliam Darcy," sighed Sydney. "He's the perfect specimen of a man."

"Impossible," Nadia laughed. "Though he _is_ quite nice to look at."

"Oh, yes," Sydney nodded fervently. She snuggled up next to Nadia. "Real men suck."

Nadia abandoned her spoon to run her fingers through Sydney's hair. "Not all real men," she disagreed.

"Yes, they do," protested Sydney. "Noah. Simon. Vaughn. And Sark. Most definitely Sark."

Nadia paused in smoothing down her sister's hair. "Syd, get up and put the movie on pause. There are some things you need to know."

Alert to her sister's serious tone, Sydney did as she asked. "What's up, honey?" she inquired, hoping Nadia was perfectly fine. "Are you okay?"

"Oh, I'm fine," Nadia assured her. "It's about Sark…Marshall just gave me some interesting news."

"Did they catch him?" Sydney asked, fear flooding her.

"No, no, not yet," Nadia assured her. "Look…do you remember I told you we got an anonymous phone call that tipped us off to Sark's location?"

"Yes," Sydney nodded in confirmation.

"I asked Marshall to keep trying to find out where it came from. He cracked it this evening," Nadia paused, watching her sister's face for any sign of realization. "Sark made the call, Syd. He was trying to take down the Guild."

Sydney's face was carefully blank. "It could have been a trap…one to get Vaughn in shooting range," she said calmly, clearly trying to avoid any hopes.

"I don't think so," Nadia disagreed. "It was too risky. He could have easily been captured himself. I really believe he was trying to end the Guild so he could start a life with you. I've had my doubts ever since I saw the first surveillance photos, but this confirms it for me. Syd, he's in love with you."

Sydney slumped back in the couch. "He might have been," she sighed. "But who knows? He certainly isn't anymore."

"What makes you think that?" frowned Nadia.

"Well, for one, I tried to kill him," Sydney answered. "And he didn't even try to stop me leaving."

"Actually…he kind of did," Nadia said, looking embarrassed.

"Excuse me?" Sydney frowned. "What do you mean by that?"

"He came to the airport…just as we were getting ready to board," Nadia confessed. "He was just about to call out your name, but I gave him a look that made it pretty clear he shouldn't do anything."

"And you didn't tell me?" Sydney cried, slightly hurt.

"I wanted to make sure you got on that plane," Nadia said defensively. "Vaughn was dying."

Sydney smiled softly to show her sister she wasn't angry. "Its all right. I was so furious at that moment, I would have just shot at him again."

"And then they never would have let us get on the plane," Nadia pointed out, voice light.

"True that," Sydney grinned.

They sat in silence, both clearly lost in thought. But eventually Nadia couldn't keep her curiosity in check. "So…what are you going to do?"

"Right now?" Sydney raised an eyebrow. She recovered her ice cream from the coffee table. "I'm going to eat this entire pint of ice cream and finish watching Colin Firth look absolutely gorgeous. Then I'm going to go to bed and try to figure out what all this means."

"Good plan," Nadia complimented her, returning to her own ice cream.

"I know," Sydney nodded, pressing Play and sinking back into the couch.

* * *

Vaughn tried to keep quiet as he approached her back. He had been wandering around trying to find her for the entire day. He had gone home last night, feeling hurt and ill-used. But that morning he had woken up feeling regretful and at peace with their situation. It was amazing what a good night's sleep could do. He had returned to Sydney's apartment at noon, but Nadia explained she had gone out. He then checked at Jack's house, APO, the train station, the observatory, even their old warehouse. The wharf was his last guess, and, as the sun set over the ocean, he found her leaning against the railing and watching the red and orange sky.

She was dressed in jeans and was wearing a full length beige coat. Her hair was loose and blowing in the wind. Vaughn felt love for this woman fill his heart, but he could finally recognize it as the love one felt for a dear friend or sibling. Not a future wife or even girlfriend prospect. That romantic love for Sydney Bristow had finally left him. "Hey," he said, standing behind her.

She turned, startled, but he was relieved to see a soft smile paint her otherwise sorrowful features. "Hi," she said with a deep breath. He walked up to lean beside her and they stood in companionable silence, watching the sun fade.

"How are you?" he inquired.

"Better," she answered. "You?"

"Good," he replied, and was pleased to find it wasn't a lie. "I'm sorry about last night, Syd."

"Don't worry about it," she shrugged. "I'm the one who should be sorry…I've made quite a mess of everything."

"I don't think this is something you can blame on one person," Vaughn countered. "I think the two of us should have figured out a long time ago, you really can't go back. What we had was a wonderful, once in a life time kind of love. But that doesn't necessarily mean it's the right kind of love. And I want you to know, even though it's over, I don't regret a single moment of it."

"Me neither," Sydney agreed, and there were tears in her eyes.

"You've been crying far too much, Syd," Vaughn said soothingly, and wiping gently at the teardrops trickling down her cheeks. "He makes you happy. I can't stand a lifetime of seeing you cry."

"How can I go back to him?" she asked, despair in her voice. "He shot you, Vaughn. For no reason! He used me and even if he's changed…he's one of the most wanted people in the world."

"They won't catch him," Vaughn assured her. "The CIA's been trying to get their hands permanently on Sark for as long as you and I can remember. It'll never happen. And as for shooting me…it wasn't exactly for no reason."

"What?"

"He shot in self-defence," Vaughn admitted. "I grew…very angry, very quickly while we were talking. I'm not saying I wasn't coaxed and taunted, but I lost it over nothing but spiteful words between rival lovers. I drew my gun first. Sark only shot because I was trying to kill him."

Sydney said nothing for quite some time, clearly trying to take this in. "Oh, God…" she murmured finally. "This is all one great big mess."

"The solution is pretty clear to me," Vaughn replied.

"All of that…however much good it does to his character…doesn't change the fact that he tried to use me," Sydney complained. "I mean…he may have never loved me. Or doesn't love me anymore."

"Then he's crazy," Vaughn laughed. "The only problem, is that you're still standing here talking to me, when you should be trying to find Julian Sark. God, I can't believe I just said that."

"I don't know where to find him," Sydney said, staring into the fading sun.

"You told me once, you can always find the one you love," Vaughn pointed out. "So, what are you waiting for?"

A smile was twitching on Sydney's lips, but still she lingered. "Are you sure you're going to be all right?"

Vaughn scoffed. "Are you kidding? Of course!" He allowed himself a smirk. "I got over you once, after all."

"Asshole," Sydney swatted him lightly.

"Yeah…maybe," Vaughn agreed. He kissed her lightly on the cheek. "I've loved every second of life with you…right from the moment you stormed into my office with Bozo red hair. Love you, girl."

"I love you too," she smiled.

"Not like you love him," Vaughn reminded her. "Now get going!" Without another word, he turned, trying not to look back. He looked at the boulevard, lit by the fading sun and then back, but Sydney had already gone. And he could not mourn for her.

"Look out!" cried a female voice before someone was crashing into him. They both crashed to the floor. "Oh, God, I am so sorry. I'm such a klutz." He found himself staring into the vividly blue eyes of a young woman.

"Its okay," he assured her, helping her to her feet. She was quite cute, he found himself thinking.

"My sister insisted I try roller-blading," she explained, still clutching on to him. "But I'm beginning to think it was a ridiculous idea." She held out a hand. "Hey. Elizabeth Thomson."

"Michael Vaughn," he grinned. "Look…you seem kind of shaken up. Do you want to go grab a drink at that snack vendor? I hear they come highly recommended by preteens everywhere."

"Yeah, that'd be great," she agreed, with a cheerful laugh. "Anything to get out of these stupid skates." She took off her helmet and Vaughn's already smiling face grew wider.

Bubblegum pink hair.


	14. Of Chicken Noodle Soup

**Disclaimer: **Alias belongs to JJ Abrams, ABC and the people at Bad Robot

**Rating: **R, for language and sexual themes in future chapters

**Pairing:** Sydney/Sark, suggested Sydney/Vaughn and Sark/Lauren

**Summary:** When Sydney makes the fatal mistake of trusting Sark with a gun in _Man of His Word, _Season 4, Sark takes the opportunity to revenge himself on Vaughn for Lauren's murder. However, after spending a prolonged time together, Sark and Sydney begin to develop feelings that neither of them anticipated.

**Author's Note: **Last one. Sorry it took a little longer than expected. Work has been kind of hectic, and the sixth Harry Potter book came out, so naturally life got put on hold while I read that. Also, I think a little bit of me was reluctant to end this fic. It was my first Alias, and I absolutely loved exploring the characters, particularly those of Nadia and Sark. I have a few ideas for new stories buzzing around in my head, and one of them is an extremely AU Sarkney, so keep your heads up for that possibility.

Thanks to every one who reviewed. I was so happy to bring a little Sarkney into your lives. Enjoy the last instalment of _Sinful Revenge_. Its quite a bit shorter than the other chapters, really more of an epilogue. But here goes…

**Chapter:** 14/14

* * *

**Chapter 14- Of Chicken Noodle Soup**

**Brighton, England**

"Everything seems to be in order 'ere, Mr. Lazaery," the real estate agent summed up, his Cockney accent somewhat difficult to understand. "The money will be transferred immediately to the indicated account. Best of luck to you and yours."

"Thank you," Sark tried a little smile, as he stood and took the man's offered hand. He barely managed to disguise the wince. Standing up was still a little painful, leading to the stretching of his newest flesh wound. He relinquished the deeds to the London estate to Mr. Rainey of Rainey and Clyde. He swung his light jacket over his shoulders and left without looking back.

The scent of sea salt and fish was most prominent over the seaside town of Brighton, England. It would not be a place he was sorry to leave. For one, he hated fish and for another, Brighton was stained with blood spilt by his hands. For the first time in his life, he had felt reluctance shedding blood. The two M16 agents had died immediately and hopefully painlessly, but that hadn't made any difference. There had been no other option, save surrendering and spending the rest of his life in British custody. Which was no option at all.

Normally such a large blow of cover would have sent him scrambling for a new hiding place, but he had become reckless these past two months. He adopted tortoise glasses that gave him a scholarly look and dyed his hair chestnut brown, but he was still very recognizable to those who knew what they were looking for. It didn't matter anymore. His plane left in five hours and he would be heading somewhere no one would ever find him.

This thought made him feel oddly hollow. It was only in the very darkest part of the night, when he was curled up in his cold bed, that he would admit that the hollow feeling had been present in one form or another since that fateful day in December. The sinister words 'hey, honey' haunted his dreams and a night wasn't complete if he didn't wake up in a cold sweat, images of Sydney gleefully pumping his skull full of lead.

The freezing wind, blowing up off of the sea, chilled his marrow. It was the first of March, and Sark was leaving England, for what he hoped would be the last time. Sark always hated the month of March- it was just a month of rain and winds. Only in April did spring start to appear, bringing a raise of spirits. But the British spy, or ex-spy, he corrected in his head, could not look to an April spring to raise his spirits. He was as miserable as he could ever remember being, and had been since the twelfth of December. His arms ached for a woman who was never coming back, and no optimistic bullshit of Antonio Manna's could save him from wallowing in misery. The Italian could sprout lines like 'be thankful you knew her at all' as much as he wanted, Sark never bought any of it.

Sark had never claimed to be unselfish or even grateful. He didn't want a memory of Sydney, he wanted all of her or nothing at all. And he knew he would never actually have her. Didn't deserve her, for that matter. But that knowledge didn't stop the constant ache. Part of his reasons for remaining in Brighton was the hope the CIA might send a team of agents after him, and perhaps she would be with the them, thirsting no doubt for his blood. In his one of his more sardonic fits, he had reasoned it would be worth dying just to see her one more time.

He unlocked the door of his BMW and slid in, firing up the engine. Was that what love was? This utter desperation that had become a part of him? He turned on to the highway, setting a vague course towards the nearest airport. He wondered if Sydney ever regretted leaving…if she ever paused to think _what if_? He grimaced angrily, hands clenching on the steering wheel until his knuckles were white. Of course she didn't. She was no doubt happy with Agent Boy Scout, planning their wedding and picking out houses with white picket fences. He couldn't stay angry with Sydney for that, however. He had only ever wanted to be able to give her the perfect life, and, except for a love with undying passion, Vaughn was more capable of giving her that perfect life.

In an attempt to distract his thoughts, he flicked on the radio. The sound of some haunting ballad sung by a woman with a beautiful, chilling voice flooded into the car. '_…and I don't feel like I'm strong enough. Cause I'm broken, when I'm lonesome. And I don't feel right, when you're gone away.'_

Sark angrily smashed the power button. What a stupid, ridiculous song. He only wondered why it was making his knuckles re-clench on the steering wheel so angrily. Hoping to leave his brain, or even better heart, behind, he slammed down on the gas pedal and tore off, every minute taking him closer to the escape he hoped he could make to some form of happiness.

**Samar**

Boxes. His life had become nothing but boxes. It was now March third and rather than being bogged down by the raging emotions associated with Sydney Bristow, he was being bogged down by boxes. Actually, to be corrected, about ten of the said boxes were now empty and broken down. But it was nothing to be proud of. Sark had spent a day and a half trying to make the house on the island of Samar in the Philippines feel more like home, yet he had failed miserably. Every half hour or so, he would grow frustrated and wander off, putting off even the most minor of tasks. Perhaps returning to the haven of his boyhood had not been the wisest of decisions.

He shook his head, clearing away any unproductive thoughts and reached for a box marked '**BOOKS**.' He carefully sliced through the packing tape with an exacto-knife, and pushed the cardboard flaps down. Checking the contents to ensure the box was marked properly, he lugged it over to the room he was going to be using as his library. The book shelves were already set up, a kind gesture of the locals he had enlisted to help him in moving in.

He began unpacking novels, duly listing off the titles in his head. _Crime and Punishment, The Lord of the Rings, Moby Dick, White Fang, Harry Potter and the Philosopher's Stone…_

The last title brought him crashing into grim reality, and the volume fell from his hands, but he didn't notice. His mind was in a different time when the Italian version of this novel had sparked conversation between two enemies.

"_What are you reading?" Sydney inquired, her voice jarring Sark from his careful translations. He could not pretend that it was not a pleasing interruption._

"_Harry Potter," he drawled, glancing at her over the pages, trying to appear unimpressed with her need for conversation._

_She rolled her eyes. "I was being serious."_

"_So was I," Sark said quickly. "I had a meet in a theatre once, but the man was compromised. Harry Potter was the film, so I stuck around to watch. It was actually quite decent. Antonio had a copy lying around, so I borrowed it."_

_Sydney, looking closer, satisfied her inquires. "I really don't know you at all," she sighed, leaning back in her seat._

"_Few do," Sark admitted, laying the book in his lap. He leaned over and, with great personal risk, he thought, flicked a strand of her blonde hair. For one instant, he wished he could keep his hands tangled in that hair, even with its awful peroxide finish, forever_.

Sark, in a fit of rage, grabbed up the book and flung it across the room. It banged into one of the walls and tumbled harmlessly to the ground, open to a page. With a heavy sigh, he trudged over to the offending paperback, and picked it up, glancing at the page it had opened up on to.

"_But why couldn't Quirrell touch me?"_

"_Your mother died to save you. If there is one thing Voldemort cannot understand, it is love. He didn't realize that love as powerful as your mother's for you leaves its own mark. Not a scar, no visible sign…to have been loved so deeply, even though the person who has loved us is gone, will give us some protection forever."_

Sark closed the book, his face thoughtful. He had been avoiding a certain place since arriving on Samar, but maybe the wizards in the children's book had a point. He opened a box marked '**OUTTER WEAR'** and retrieved a black rain coat. Throwing up the hood, he stepped out into the rain.

It had been raining ever since he had arrived on Samar. The island was right in the middle of their Monsoon season. He ignored the pelting rain though, and maybe his way down to the narrow path that led down the grassy slope that was the back yard of the beach house to the beach itself. The sea rolled and churned, whites of waves spraying up. The water looked freezing cold, but Sark had to fight the urge to just walk out into it and let one of those waves come crashing down over his head.

Once he reached the beach, he made his way to a small grove of palm trees, a relatively short walk from their house. The palm trees offered a little shelter from the rain, but it was still a very wet day indeed. In the very middle of the trees there was a tomb stone, a little worse for wear. The grave site was very ill kept, possibly because no family had been there since the day Anastasia Lazaery was lowered into the ground.

Sark knelt in the wet grass in front of the tombstone. He didn't know exactly when the rain beating on his face started to mingle with his tears, but by then he was far beyond caring. He was completely alone in the world. There was no one going to come and cheer him up. His mother and father were dead, and he had alienated all friends, or more correctly, business partners. And the one woman he loved wanted to shoot him in the head, or at least put him in front of a firing squad. Try as he might, he couldn't see the light at the end of the dark tunnel he was travelling. He was beginning to question whether or not there was an end to this dark sorrow.

For how long he sobbed hoarsely into the wind and rain, he didn't know. His back was to his mother's stone and his hands covered his face. His clothes were soaked through and he was sure by morning he would be suffering from a serious cold, if not a full blown flu. And there would be no one to take care of him and feed him hot chicken noodle soup when all he wanted to do was laze around in bed.

That sobering thought brought him around to reality and he slowly got to his feet, brushing the clinging mud off of his clothes as best as he could. He gathered his wits about him and made his way back to the beach. His step was slightly lighter, and his mood, despite the torrent, could almost be described as brighter. He had not found any surprising happiness hidden in the grove, but an acceptance of his loneliness. Taking a calming breath, he reached the beach quickly and began hurrying towards the house.

His thoughts much less hectic, he was soon distracted by a visitor to his private beach. They were still too far away to make out any distinct features, including whether or not they were male or female. They were shrouded in a large grey coat, with the neck pulled up to fend off the wind. A floppy grey hat was resting on their head and they wore large boots. Through the heavy rain, they looked almost ghostly.

Sark wasn't feeling particularly friendly. A good part of him wanted to pull out a gun he had stopped carrying and shoot the intruder. But Sydney had made a lasting impact on the spy, though he was hardly aware of it. He changed direction and headed towards the figure in the rain. "Oy!" he hollered against the wind. "You can't be here! This is private property!"

"I know!" the figure shouted back. The voice was definitely female.

"Then get the hell off of my property!" Sark demanded, Sydney's influence not so great as to make him abstain altogether from rudeness or obscenities. "Bit stupid to take a walk in this weather anyways."

"_Your_ property, did you say?" inquired the female. She pushed the brim of her floppy hat back, now only a few feet away from Sark. He got a glance of laughing brown eyes and locks of damp brown hair. "Exactly how many houses does one man need, Julian?"

A noise escaped Sark's throat, something between a laugh, and a sob and a shout of 'Sydney!' He ran towards her, and caught her up in his arms, burying his face in her neck. She laughed and wrapt her arms around his neck, kissing the top of his head. He lowered her and captured her mouth in a kiss more passionate than any they had shared before.

"I thought I'd lost you," he breathed against her lips. "I deserved to lose you. Love…darling girl…can you ever forgive me?"

"It's all forgotten," Sydney grinned, but he could see tears shining in her eyes. "I'm so sorry I left. I don't know why I thought I could go on without you. These past two months have been the most miserable of my entire life."

"That makes two of us," Sark admitted. He kissed her again, just because he could. But Sydney wasn't quite finished.

"And I'm so sorry I shot at you…not that you didn't deserve it…for some things," she added. "And I will do anything for you to take me back, despite the fact that I made such a huge mess of things. I mean…I'll dye my hair back to blonde…even that ridiculous peroxide colour, if you want. I know that's how you like your women."

This chain of babble was too much for Sark, and he silenced her with a kiss. "I like my women looking however you happen to look at that moment."

These whispered endearments served to silence Sydney, and her face lit up in a brilliant smile that healed any remaining sorrow in Sark. "C'mon," he coaxed, taking her hand. "I want to show you something."

"In this weather?" Sydney raised an eyebrow. "Are you mad? We've probably both already caught our deaths! It can wait, Julian."

Sark looked back at his mother's grove. He wanted to show Sydney immediately. She saw his torment. "We have forever," she reminded him quietly.

That promise soothed his indecision, and he joined hands with her. They headed in the direction of the house, walking rather quickly. As they drew up to the back screen door, Sark was overcome with a violent sneezing fit.

"Aw, baby," Sydney laughed. "Has he caught a cold?" Sark made a good show of pouting, and Sydney lightly swatted his arm. "Oh, lay off. Come inside and I'll make you some chicken noodle soup."

Sark allowed the American brunette to lead him inside, for the first time in two months feeling at home.

**FIN**

* * *

Taken from _Harry Potter and the Philosopher's Stone_ by JK Rowling. Canadian Edition, pg. 216

The snippet of a song Sark listens to on the radio is 'Broken' by Seether, featuring Amy Lee.


End file.
